


Everything She Saw

by TheScarletAngel



Series: All the Madness We Share [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Cheating, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sex, Original Character Death(s), Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:22:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 28,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26718199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScarletAngel/pseuds/TheScarletAngel
Summary: Amber Connery watched as Jonathan Crane slowly descended into madness. She watched as Gotham turned from a crime-ridden city into a home for the insane. She watched as what she came to know as her life crumbled away. She watched everything change. To some, Gotham wasn't much different. Just the middle of another story. But Amber knew better. There was no middle. There was only the before and the after.And Gotham was in the after.
Relationships: Edward Nygma/Original Female Character(s), Jonathan Crane/Original Female Character(s)
Series: All the Madness We Share [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1899754
Comments: 13
Kudos: 17





	1. The Beginning of After

It had been one year since Jonathan had been incarcerated in the asylum where he formerly worked as a psychiatrist. One whole year. And it had been quite the year. 

I was still a journalist, that hadn’t changed. I lived in the same apartment, but with new neighbors. The others had either moved or been killed. I was still an atheist, to the surprise of many. They reasoned I should believe in God for surviving the attack in the Narrows. They reasoned it was because of Him I survived. No, if anything, those events had further proven my point. He wasn’t real. He had done nothing. So all things considered, not much had changed for me.

Yet, at the same time, things had changed so much.

I used to be confused and pained by what Jonathan had done and what he continued to do. Those feelings slowly turned to hatred. I hated Jonathan Crane.

Batman had become an ally to the new commissioner, the former Captain James Gordon. Batman was no longer a wanted criminal, but Gotham’s best weapon to combat the ever-growing insanity. 

I couldn’t believe Gotham could become any more insane than it had been a year earlier. I was wrong. More and more of the eccentric criminals started crawling out like cockroaches from under a carpet.

Things weren’t entirely terrible for me, though. I rather liked my new neighbors in my apartment building. To the left of me was Zoey, a gothic woman and a prostitute. She had two black cats named Lucifer and Shadow. I was pretty convinced she was actually a witch. Across the hall was a gay man named Sam Evans. He became my best friend. He flirted playfully with everyone, and he would pretend to be my boyfriend if I asked him. At least, that’s what he told me.

I still talked to the man I’d met at the bar. Edward Nigma. He worked as a private investigator. Edward was much harder to talk to than Sam or Zoey were and considerably more full of himself, yet I still enjoyed his company. He had a penchant for riddles, which I found odd. I tried answering them, even though I knew I wouldn’t answer most of them correctly. He always seemed pleased when I got them wrong.

Gotham was a very different city than the one I had moved to four years earlier. It was darker. Colder. And while I so wanted to leave, I couldn’t find it in me to go. Somewhere along the line, I had gained too much to leave behind.


	2. The Sky is Everywhere

The sky was blue. It was so rare that the sky was blue; it was something to be cherished. The blue sky might have been the only thing I missed about Georgia. 

It was also a rare day I wasn’t working. I didn’t mind taking a break from writing about the corrupted city of Gotham. Part of me wished I lived in a city where I could write about something hopeful. I didn’t know what the other part of me liked enough in the city to make me stay.

I was sitting on a bench in one of Gotham’s nicer parks. I wasn’t doing anything in particular. Really, I was just staring and thinking.

The sky disappeared as someone stood in front of me.

“You look like you’re thinking way too hard,” the familiar voice of my friend, Sam, said.

“Probably because I am,” I answered. He sat down beside me on the bench.

“About what?”

“Why I’m still in Gotham. Why do you think I’m still here, Sam?”

“Because of me and my good looks, obviously.”

I rolled my eyes. “Somehow I think there’s another reason. Anyway, you’re gay. What does it matter if I find you attractive?”

“I’m vain. I care,” he said. “Honest answer, though. I think you want to stay for Crane.”

“Jonathan?”

“You still care about him.”

“I hate him.”

“That’s what you tell yourself. But you loved him for years. Sure, he hurt you and has caused the deaths of dozens of people, but you still care. You don’t want to leave him. I think you know deep down I’m right,” Sam explained. I laid my head on his shoulder.

“I hate that you’re probably right. Why do you have to be an idiot in everything else except relationships?” I asked.

“Great question, darling. Maybe you should ask your riddle boyfriend.”

I shot up. “Edward and I are not dating.”

“Could have fooled me. I’ve seen you together, Amber. The man stares after you like a lost puppy when your back is turned.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“He definitely does. Eddie baby is hot for you,” Sam teased. I shuddered at the way he said Edward’s name.

“Never ever, ever call him Eddie baby. That was foul. Edward and I are friends. And that’s that.”

Sam smirked but didn’t answer me again. I stared out into the park. There were families who, despite living in a god-forsaken city, looked happy. I wished I could be happier than I was.

“Amber?”

“Yeah, Sam?”

“Have you ever seen a jealous Crane?” 

“What?”

“Do you think he’d be jealous that you’re spending romantic time with a man who isn’t him?” Sam asked.

“Edward and I are not in a romantic relationship. And why would Jonathan care? Technically, he’s the reason we’re not together.”

“But you’re the one who broke things off. I feel like Crane would be spending time with you when he’s out and about if you were still dating.”

“I wouldn’t be spending my time with a known criminal,” I said. Sam shut up quickly. I suddenly felt as though I’d said something wrong and felt terrible.

“Wanna hear something about the sky?” I asked him.

“Why the fuck would I want to hear about the sky? Are you a poet now?” he asked.

“The sky is blue, right?”

“Well, I fucking hope so. Or else we’re all part of some shared hallucination.”

“Hey, no need to curse,” I teased. “Anyway, the sky is blue. It’s the same blue as when I lived in Georgia.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Some things don’t change. Like the blue sky.”

“It turns green when there’s a tornado.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to be poetic. What I’m trying to say is that the sky is the sky. It’s absolute. It’s always there.”

“Your point?” he asked. I slapped his shoulder.

“Some things don’t change, is my point. It’s nice to be reminded of that sometimes, isn’t it?”

He didn’t say anything, but he nodded. I took that as answer enough. Whatever I’d said to upset him, I hoped he got the message he was my friend. I hoped he understood that I always wanted to be his friend.

But he was right. The sky wasn’t always blue. Sometimes the sky turned green. Some things changed. Some things like me and Jonathan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title borrowed from Jandy Nelson. The first chapter title was borrowed from Jennifer Castle.  
>  Also, here is the intro of Sam! Technically, he is my sister's character. She really wanted to create a character, but she gave Sam to me because she doesn't like writing. 
> 
> Fun fact, she named him after her. Sam is also my sister's name.


	3. That Was Then, This Is Now

I crumbled the newspaper in my hands. Jonathan had escaped Arkham again. He had done it once before in the past year, and the last time it had taken only a week for him to be recaptured. I had been worried the last time he might have tried repeating what he had done in the Narrows. There was no doubt in my mind that was his goal. I hoped that he would be captured again before he could succeed in anything.

Someone knocked on my door. Then there was another knock. Then another.

“Hold on, I’m coming!” I dropped the newspaper on the table and looked through the door’s viewer. 

Zoey stood outside the door. I unlocked it and let her in.

Zoey was a nice enough person. When she first moved in, I avoided her because of her gothic appearance. It took about a month for me to start talking to her. She wasn't offended. We became friends quickly after I started talking to her.

"Did you read the paper?" she asked, walking into my apartment. She sat down on the sofa.

"Yeah, I did. What do you make of it?" I asked as I sat down beside her.

"He wants to fuck up people's lives, that's what I make of it. That damn asylum can't keep anyone inside. It's not just Crane that's out now. Joker's out, too, if you remember," Zoey said.

"I'd almost forgotten. He's been quiet lately." The Joker had escaped the month before. I supposed if I lived in another city, knowing a green-haired clown was running rampant in Gotham would have concerned me. But I lived in Gotham; this was normal.

"Makes me nervous," Zoey muttered. "That only means he's got something big planned."

I nodded. She was right. The longer the criminals were out, the bigger the crime. 

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I miss when the mobs ran the city. You know, Falcone and Maroni. I'd rather deal with them than with the likes of the Joker," I said. Zoey shook her head.

“I’d rather no one ran the city. The mobs were just as bad,” she said. She grew up here. She would know more than I did. If she said they were bad, then I had to believe her, even if I couldn’t believe it.

“Are you worried Crane will come after you?” Zoey asked.

“A little, I guess. Honestly, there are more important things for me to worry about.”

“I wish I was so lucky as to have more important things than getting fear gassed to worry about. I mean, to Amber Connery, wondering when Edward Nigma is going to ask her out is far more important!”

“Edward and I are friends.”

Zoey raised her eyebrows. “Right. I know what ‘just friends’ looks like, Amber. What you and Edward have, it’s not that.”

“Name one thing we have in common,” I challenged.

“You both have red hair.”

“That doesn’t count!”

Zoey laughed. I didn’t think it was very funny. Edward was alright to spend time with, but I didn’t think a relationship with him would last. It wasn’t realistic. We weren’t compatible in that way.

“Sure. But back on the subject of Crane. You’re not worried at all?” Zoey asked.

“Not for myself. For others, yeah.”

“Do you think Crane still cares about you?”

“You’re assuming he ever did.”

Zoey’s face last any trace of humor. I’d told her about Jonathan and I. She believed he had cared about me. He might have when we were younger. I wasn’t so sure he cared as much when we met again as adults.

“The way you talk about him makes it seem like he cared about you,” Zoey said. “I think he did love you. Maybe not when he was arrested, but I think he did once.”

“Maybe it was my fault for waiting so long,” I said. Zoey shook her head. I knew she would disagree with me. I didn’t even believe that myself. Jonathan had always been cold. Part of me wanted a straightforward answer, a rational justification for why he did what he did. The other part knew I would most likely never get one.

“So, any other news?” Zoey said, changing the subject. 

“Yeah. Remember when I told you about the Arkham story I worked on a while ago?” I asked. Zoey nodded. “Paul wants me to start over. Apparently there’s more shit going on there and since I’m the expert, it’s my job. Someone else was on it, but they gave up.”

“Jesus. I take back what I said about you being lucky. You are one of the most unlucky people I know,” Zoey said.

“No kidding.”

Zoey stayed for another hour until she had to work. I knew what she did at night. I wanted to ask her to stay instead of leaving. But I knew that would only cause problems for her.

When she left, I got to work on the damn Arkham story. Again.

The asylum story. It had been a long time since I’d been on that story. I’d kept the notes. Most of them were on Jeremiah Arkham, who was already incarcerated. Some on Jonathan, also incarcerated. One sentence on Hugo Strange. The story, unlike last time, was not about abused patients. It was about missing ones.

I pored over the notes. Neither Jonathan nor Jeremiah seemed to have the ability to make people go missing. Not while Jeremiah was locked up and patients had been reported missing before Jonathan had escaped the first time. This made my sole suspect Hugo Strange, and only because I had no idea who else could make patients disappear without too many worrying about it. And there had to be a reason there was so little information about him.

This time, I would not visit the asylum. I would make an extraordinary effort not to speak to anyone associated with the asylum. That meant no Victor Zsasz. That meant no Jonathan. Going to the asylum last time had been a mistake. I would avoid Arkham at all costs.

Hugo Strange was the newest director. The German doctor who I had found no previous information about. I repeated this over in my head. There had to be something else. Something missing.

Even after so long, he was still an enigma.

Enigma?

I reached for my phone. It was no matter of Zoey’s if I had Edward’s phone number. And this was a business matter. Not a personal call.

“Edward Nigma speaking.”

“Hi, Edward. It’s Amber.” There was a pause before he spoke again.

“While it is wonderful to hear your lovely voice, I must say that I am doing something very-”

“It’ll be quick, I promise,” I said, cutting him off. He sighed into the phone.

“What is it then?”

“Do you think you could find information about a certain person for me?”

He scoffed into the phone. “Of course I can. There is nothing I can’t figure out. Name?”

“Hugo Strange.”

There was a silence before he spoke again. “The director of Arkham? Why?”

“A story I’m working on. I’ll pay you,” I offered.

“No need. I’ll do it as a favor for my dearest friend.”

While I doubted I was his dearest friend, I appreciated his help. I needed it if I wanted to avoid the asylum.

“Thank you, Edward. I appreciate it. I’ll let you get back to what you were doing.” As I pulled the phone away from my ear, he spoke again.

“It wasn’t very important, what I have been working on. Would you like to continue a conversation?” he asked.

I almost said no. I meant this to be a business call, not a personal one. But I didn’t say no. I should have said no because I had the story to work on, and I should have said no because I didn’t want a relationship. I should have said no for a plethora of other reasons. I would have in the past.

But I guess that was then. This was now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now here's another new character! Everyone, say hello to Zoey.
> 
> Chapter title borrowed from S.E. Hinton


	4. Something Wicked This Way Comes

Edward sat across from me in my favorite coffee shop two weeks after our phone call. The same one I used to meet Jonathan in. He’d called me the night before to tell me he had information for me. That was good, as I had nothing to work with. Nothing whatsoever.

And despite all the teasing I’d gotten from Sam and Zoey, this was not a date. Not a date, but I could appreciate that Edward looked nice. Very nice, actually. Then again, I doubt he went anywhere without looking his absolute best. 

“So, what do you have for me?” I asked him. I took a sip from the coffee Edward had ordered me. Too much cream and sugar to even be remotely close to coffee. I wondered how he’d learned that was how I drank it.

“No one knows where he’s from. He taught at Gotham State a while back. He was a professor of psychiatry, but they let him go for reasons unknown. You’ve told me you know when he was hired. And rumor has it he has connections to the mobs,” Edward listed. I wrote what he was saying down in a notepad.

“Is that it?” I asked when he hadn’t spoken again.

“That’s it,” he agreed. He drank his tea.

“That’s all you could find? There has to be more than that!”

“Of course there is, but it’s nothing I can find. I’m the most intelligent person I know, but even I can’t make information that isn’t there appear out of thin air.”

I dropped the notepad on the table. There was no doubt he could see I was frustrated. How could one man have essentially no information? It should have been impossible. There had to be more somewhere.

“Well, Edward, do you think Strange could make inmates disappear?” I asked. “Because I am out of ideas. How do inmates just disappear?”

“It’s possible. Do you know how long the missing inmates were there for?” Edward asked. I did, but I didn’t see why it would matter. I picked up the notepad and flipped to the page where I had dates listed.

“Ten years. Nine years. Eleven years. Fourteen years. Sixteen years. There’s a couple more. All over a ten years period.”

“Are you really not making a connection?” Edward asked. He could be so condescending and I hated it. I stared at the numbers, suddenly bent on seeing what he did. Incarceration rates of ten years or more, except for one. Long periods of time.

“These people had no visitors,” I said. It dawned on me. “Everyone who’s missing has been there long enough that people have either forgotten about them or stopped caring.”

“There you go.”

“Someone with influence has to be doing it, though. The other inmates and doctors have to have noticed some missing inmates. Someone reported it anonymously. Someone must be trying to keep it quiet,” I thought out loud.

Someone like Hugo Strange. But without evidence, what I thought didn’t matter. And I was not going to Arkham. No way in hell.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Edward’s voice cut into my thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re thinking too hard.”

“Ha-ha, aren’t you just hilarious?” I dropped the notepad and pen into my purse. Neither of us made a move. “Do you have any plans for tonight, Edward?”

“Why do you ask?” Edward asked. I shrugged.

“Nothing else to do today,” I said. “You were my last appointment for the day.”

Edward relaxed into the chair. “Go on, then. I have time. I am at your disposal for whatever it is you wish to talk about.”

Talking to Edward was a welcome distraction to the mess that had become my life. But the hours I spent talking to him could not be considered a date. Definitely not a date. Even if I liked the way he looked at me and the way he spoke to me. It was not a date.

I was home later than I would have liked. The time had gotten away from me when I had been talking to Edward. Even though it wasn’t a date.

I flipped the light on and locked the door again behind me. I put my bag on a hook near the door, along with my jacket. Something felt off. Something felt out of place. I was sure I’d turned the coffee pot off before I’d left home, too.

“You’ve been gone a long time, Amber.”

My blood ran cold. I inhaled and exhaled. I was not afraid. There was a figure I hadn’t noticed before sitting on a chair in the living room. And there was a mug on the table next to him.

“Jonathan. What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be there,” I said. I avoided the fact that he knew I was gone. It implied he had been here for quite some time.

“Where have you been?” he asked again. He avoided my question.

“Out.”

Jonathan stood. I stayed in place as he slowly walked toward me. He wanted to intimidate me. I couldn’t let him notice. Not allowing him to notice fear, though, would be a near impossible feat.

“Out where?” he asked, stepping closer. I arched my neck to look at him.

“Why are you here?” I asked again.

“I wanted to see you. I’ve been out of Arkham, as you very well know. Now tell me where you have been,” he demanded.

“Out. Research for a story,” I answered, hoping the vague answer would be enough for him.

“Really?” he asked. His eyebrows raised slightly. Jonathan didn’t believe me. “Tell me about this story.”

“It’s not important.”

His hand reached for me. I took a step back. His lips turned up in a smirk. He knew I was afraid. Jonathan’s fingers brushed my hair.

“Who is Edward?” he asked. 

The world seemed to stop for a moment. There was no way he could know about Edward. Not unless he’d seen me. Or had someone else tailing me. 

I sucked in a breath when his fingers gripped my hair. He tugged at it. “Who is he, Amber?”

“Just a friend,” I said. Jonathan stepped closer.

“Really? I get the sense that he is more than that.”

“He’s not. I swear, he’s just a friend.”

Jonathan let go of my hair. He stepped back. It wasn’t until I had space again that I realized how heavy my breathing had become. 

“I don’t think you understand how much trouble you’re getting yourself into,” Jonathan said. “You would do well to remember that I am the only one you can really trust.”

I didn’t know what he meant by trouble. “Trust you? You can’t honestly believe I can trust you! After what you did?”

“Better to trust the devil you know than the devils you don’t.”

“What the hell do you mean? Stop talking in riddles!”

“I am not the one talking in riddles, Amber.”

I couldn’t understand why he was speaking so cryptically. The Jonathan I had known hadn’t liked riddles. He had been straightforward about most things. 

“Get out, Jonathan,” I demanded.

“You’ll understand what I mean in time,” Jonathan promised. I watched him leave. I should have been on the phone with the cops. Yet I wasn’t. It was impossible for me to say why.

“Damn him,” I muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title borrowed from Ray Bradbury


	5. Illusions of Fate

“Hey, Vicki, question for you,” I called across the office. She looked up from her desk. I motioned for her to come over to me.

“What is it, Amber? Something about Arkham?” she asked. She took a seat beside me.

“You got it. Right now, I’ve got nothing. More than before from a friend, but not a lot at all. Do you think you can help me out?”

“Can’t you go to Arkham? Try to talk to people there?”

I shook my head. “Last time I tried that, it didn’t go well. And, you know, I’d rather stay away from there.”

Vicki leaned against her fist. I know she didn’t want to go there either. I wouldn’t make her. It was my project anyway. I just needed some ideas or leads. Vicki might have been able to give me something.

“Bruce Wayne makes donations there,” Vicki said after a few minutes. “He and I are on speaking terms. I could probably arrange a meeting between the two of you to talk about Arkham. He might be your best bet as of now because I know the doctors at Arkham don’t like to talk.”

I remembered my very brief meeting with Bruce Wayne, though I doubted he remembered me. I didn’t think he would know much at all. 

“Do you think he’d know anything?”

Vicki shrugged her shoulders. I appreciated that she was doing her best to help me. I just hated how little I knew and how little I was able to do anything about that fact. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. I was just so frustrated with everything.

“Thanks, Vicki. I appreciate it,” I said. 

“I’ll set up the meeting.”

______________________________________________________________________________

When Vicki had said she would set up a meeting with Bruce Wayne, I thought it would be at his building or some cafe, not at his mansion. Standing outside of Wayne Manor was not something I ever imagined myself doing. A few minutes after I rang the front doorbell, an old man opened it. 

“You must be Ms. Connery. Please come in, Mr. Wayne will be down shortly,” he said kindly. I entered the manor and was astounded by the size of it.

“If you’ll follow me, Ms. Connery. You and Mr. Wayne will be speaking in the drawing room today.”

I followed the man into the room, which might have been the size of my entire apartment. It was ridiculous, the size of the place.

“Thank you,” I said to the man.

“My name is Alfred Pennyworth. Should you need anything, do not hesitate to call for me.”

I nodded my head, and the man left the room. The room had an enormous fireplace in it, and above it, a picture of a family. It was the Waynes. Bruce Wayne had to have been six or seven in the portrait. The family looked so happy. I couldn’t remember ever being that happy with Dad, and Mom had never been part of my life.

“I was seven when my parents had that commissioned.”

I turned and Bruce Wayne stood in the doorway. He came closer and stood beside me. “I remember wishing the painter would have been faster.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or make a comment, so I nodded my head instead of saying anything. That seemed to be a safe option.

“I understand that you had some questions for me about Arkham?” he said. He sat and motioned for me to do the same.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” I said, taking the invitation. 

“Of course not, Amber. I can call you that, right?” he asked.

“I would prefer it, actually.”

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

It stunned me that he remembered. “We did, but it was brief. I was in the elevator on the way to interview your scientist, Kirk Langstrom.”

“Ah, yes. That’s right. You were also the one who was working on that Arkham story. I thought you finished that one?”

“The first one, yeah. But now there’s another one. There are concerns about missing patients. Do you know anything about that?”

“I know that patients were going missing. Long-term ones. I’ve been looking into it myself.”

I hadn’t been aware that Bruce Wayne had been looking into the disappearances. I supposed that was a good thing. It meant that more than one person cared about those people.

“Have you found anything?” I asked.

“Have you?” he threw back. I humored him.

“Like before, I think the blame has to be placed on the person in charge. Last time it was Jeremiah Arkham. This time I think it’s Hugo Strange. The trouble is, I know nothing about him, and I have no proof,” I explained. Wayne leaned back against the sofa and folded his hands.

“I agree with you, and I understand your struggle. I’m sorry to say I know little more than you. I have been there a few times since I heard about what was happening, and I’m not happy with what I saw.”

“What did you think of Hugo Strange?” I asked.

“Mysterious is the first word that comes to mind. Sadistic would be the second.”

I wanted to cry. I needed evidence, not personal feelings. There had to be someone who knew something about Strange.

“I heard Dr. Crane escaped. What do you think about that?” Wayne changed the subject.

“I’m upset. I don’t want him hurting people,” I said immediately. I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t been caught.

“Do you think he would know anything about what happened to the people?”

I hadn’t thought of it. I could have asked when he broke into my apartment. I should have asked, but I was too caught up in him. I wanted to slap myself. Jonathan might have been the one person who knew anything. People would have asked where I got the information, and I could only say it was an anonymous source so many times before people got suspicious. 

“He might. But he’s gone. There’s no way for me to get into contact with him.”

“If he gets found, would you be willing to talk to him?”

“If I had to.” 

Silence pervaded. 

“Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Wayne. I appreciate it,” I said, standing from the spot.

“Bruce, please. Will you keep me in the loop on anything you find? I do care about the patients,” he said, shaking my hand. Part of me wondered if he meant Harvey Dent. I knew they had been friends before his accident.

“Of course.”

He escorted me to the front of the house and shook my hand again. “Have a good afternoon, Amber.”

“You too, Mr. Wayne.”

I hit the light way too hard on the way into my apartment. I was upset about everything. The story, the city. I was annoyed at the world.

Almost immediately after I sat down, someone knocked on the door. I stalked to the door and ripped it open. Zoey stood out there, and a girl stood behind her.

“Is this a bad time?” Zoey asked. 

“Sorry, no. Just had a rough day. What do you need?”

“I don’t need anything. She does, though.” Zoey pulled the girl from behind her. She was young. She had blue in her hair.

“Hi,” she said quietly. “My name’s Katie VaSeer. I might have information about Arkham Asylum for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is coming a little early today since I'll be busy all day to post! Everyone say hello to Katie! 
> 
> Chapter title borrowed from Kiersten White


	6. Do Not Say We Have Nothing

I stared at the girl with blonde and blue hair. She was a kid. There was no way she could know anything about what was happening there. She was wearing jeans and a blue sweater. She looked like a regular kid, most likely just got out of school.

“Can we come in, Amber?” Zoey asked.

“Sure.” I opened the door wider and moved to let Zoey and the kid in the apartment. Zoey took the girl to the sofa.

“How do you know the kid?” I asked.

“My name is Katie!” the girl snapped.

“Sorry, sorry,” I said quickly. “How do you know Katie?”

“I’m the one who dyes her hair. I mentioned you were writing a story about Arkham, and she said she had something to tell you. She wouldn’t tell me what it was,” Zoey said. I leaned back. I struggled to believe this girl would know anything.

“Ok then, Katie, tell me what you know,” I said. She must have heard the disbelief in my voice. She looked upset.

“Look, I know I’m a kid, and not as established as you, but I’m not an idiot. If you don’t wanna listen to me, just say it,” Katie snapped.

“No, no, I do, I’m sorry. I’ve had a rough day, and I do need help,” I apologized. I supposed if she knew anything, I would take it.

Katie’s knee was bouncing up and down, and her fingers were flexing. She was snapping a ponytail holder against her wrist. Zoey had a hand on the one the knee that wasn’t moving. Zoey was stroking it gently with her thumb. Katie was nervous about something. She hadn’t seemed nervous earlier. I wondered what changed in the minute.

“Why are you nervous, Katie?” I asked, trying to sound gentle. I didn’t want to make her any more anxious than she already was.

“I’m nervous now that I have to talk,” she said.

“Will you get in trouble for talking to me?” I asked. Her hands seemed to shake faster. Zoey stared at me, shaking her head.

“Only if I get caught, but I think we’re fine now. I’m supposed to be at work.”

So she was here without permission? She seemed terrified of her parents. But then, Jonathan and I had feared our guardians once, too.

“We can make it quick, if that would make you feel better. Or you could give me your phone number and I could text you,” I offered.

“No!” she blurted. I jumped. I hadn’t expected a reaction like that. “I can’t give you my number.”

“Okay, then, wh-”

“Just let me talk. I have time for now,” Katie interrupted me. “But can Zoey leave? I’d feel better if it was just you and me.”

I looked at Zoey. She nodded and stood. She rubbed Katie’s back and left the room. Katie looked more uncomfortable with Zoey gone, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. The girl was on edge. I didn’t want to make her any more upset than she was.

“So, Arkham?” I offered, trying to start the conversation. Katie took a deep breath.

“Hugo Strange knows the mobs and owes them a lot of money. I’ve heard he’s selling the missing patients to make up the money he owes.”

“Selling them?” That was crazy. What would any sane person want with mentally ill patients? What was the point in selling them? This was the craziest thing I’d heard. Katie must have heard wrong. 

“I know that looks means you think I’m making this up,” she said. It impressed me she could tell.

“It’s hard to believe,” I agreed.

“I know. I thought they were lying when I heard it. But I know the name I heard was one of the missing Arkham patients.”

“Where did you hear this?”

“The Iceberg Lounge.”

“I’m sorry, what?” There was no way she could have gotten in there. Oswald Cobblepot owned that bar, and I doubted he would let a kid into it.

“I’m a photographer,” she explained. “I was hired to take pictures, and I heard some people in the back room talking about it. Strange owes the Falcones money, and Strange tried to sell Cobblepot one of the patients to make some money. Cobblepot refused.”

“Let me get this straight,” I said. I paused, putting together my thoughts. “You’re a photographer, and in the Iceberg Lounge you heard people talking about selling patients from an insane asylum.”

She nodded. “Sounds about right.”

“How old are you?”

Katie laughed. “I’m seventeen.”

“You know this is crazy, right?” I asked her. She shrugged.

“You do realize we live in Gotham, right? Where our own District Attorney lost his mind in just the past year?”

She had a solid point there. “How am I supposed to write about this? I can’t headline with ‘Missing Patients Being Sold for Mafia Money.’”

“It’s catchy, though.”

“My point is, there’s no evidence. No other witnesses, and even-” Katie opened her mouth, but I kept talking, “if there are, no one is coming forward. There’s no case. I might have to drop it.”

“They’re people, though.”

“They’re forgotten, and they’ve been there so long they don’t have any visitors anymore. That’s the sad reality of the world. People forget.”

“Wait another week. Keep trying. Please. I’ll help you,” Katie pleaded. For someone who had been reluctant to talk before, she sure wanted to talk now.

“Why are you so invested in this? Did you know any of them?” I asked her. That would be the only logical reason she cared so much. She shook her head.

“It just matters, ok? Give me a week, and if I find nothing, you can drop it.”

“You’re a kid. Even if I could bring you on, how are you going to be find anything?” I asked her. This might have been the craziest conversation I’d ever had.

“I have my ways. And you don’t have to tell anyone I’m helping. Please, if I find anything, I’ll contact you. Give me your number.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I stopped her. “You want me to give you my number, but I can’t have yours?”

She nodded, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. What kind of girl was this Katie? She wasn’t like any teenage girl I’d ever met.

I sighed. She would not budge on this. “Fine. One week.”

She lit up as she wrote my number on her hand. I wondered why she didn’t just put it into her phone. 

“Thank you for talking to me, even though it’s obvious you think I’m crazy,” she said. She stood and walked out the door. I didn’t get a chance to stop her and ask for her last name. Katie probably wasn’t even her full first name.

I put my face into my hands. I couldn’t believe that I agreed to let a seventeen-year-old girl help me with this story. Her story wasn’t even believable. How could selling patients make money? There wasn’t anything special about the people who went missing. They were, as far as I knew, normal people.

Zoey seemed familiar with Katie, though. That had to mean something. And Katie had seemed so afraid to speak up. She wouldn’t give up a phone number or even take out a phone to put my number into. There was something off about Katie, and I’m sure Zoey knew what it was. I wouldn’t pry, even though I so wanted to. I valued Zoey too much, and if she wanted to tell me about Katie, then I was sure she would.

Katie was damned right about one thing. We did live in Gotham City. The people breathed insanity instead of air. I hadn’t even lived here for very long, and I could figure that out quickly. I assumed Katie had lived here longer. I wondered how the city affected the people like Katie who were trapped here.

Was I trapped here now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title borrowed from Madeleine Thien


	7. Death in the Afternoon

“-and then she tells me to give me a week. Can you believe that, Sam?” I asked him. We were at the park, Sam was lounging on the grass. I was on a bench. He was listening to my recap of the week prior. “It’s the end of the week. No contact from the girl.”

“Sounds pretty serious. Did she sound like she was joking?” he asked. He was pulling blades of grass out of the ground.

“No, she sounded serious. But how could any of what she said be serious?”

“We live in Gotham.”

“She said that too!”

“Smart girl,” Sam said.

“Come on, Sam. Let’s be serious. I’m dropping the story.” My phone buzzed in my pocket as I said that. Sam stared up at me. 

“Text or call?” he asked.

“Call, so shut up,” I said, pulling it out. The number was unknown. “Hello?”

“It’s Katie. I have information for you. You haven’t dropped the case yet, have you?”

“Is it the girl?” Sam mouthed to me. I nodded to him.

“No, I haven’t. Where are you calling from? It’s hard to hear you.”

“A payphone on Second. Can we meet somewhere?”

Why was she at a payphone? She had a phone, she made that clear. What was it with this girl and refusing to use her phone? Most girls her age were constantly on their phones. Katie didn’t seem to be like that, though.

“Coffee shop near my building. I hope you’re not wasting my time,” I said to her. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I hung up on her.

“You’re meeting her? Can I come?” Sam asked, getting off the ground.

“I don’t care. She might, though. She didn’t want Zoey with us, and I got the sense they were close,” I said as I got off the bench. What I was doing was crazy. I hadn’t done something this crazy with the last story.

Unless one counted visiting one of the worst serial killers of all time counted. Or having to sneak around a boyfriend who also ended up being a murderer. Or talking to the Batman because of the work.

So maybe this wasn’t the craziest thing I’d done. It was getting close, though.

“How high are your hopes for this?” Sam asked as we crossed an intersection.

“Not high.”

Katie was waiting outside of the coffee shop when Sam and I got there. She had a folder in her hand and a camera around her neck. I remembered she mentioned she was a photographer. She looked uncomfortable.

“You know you could have waited inside,” I said when I got close to her.

“I didn’t know if this was the right place or not.”

She glanced warily at Sam. He stared back at her. I was confused.

“Does he have to listen to us?” she asked, still staring at him.

“I mean, what does-”

“I’ll wait out here,” Sam cut me off. What was going on?

“Ok?” I didn’t understand what was going on between Katie and Sam. I followed Katie inside and she took a seat closest to the door.

“Everything ok?” I asked her.

“Just playing it safe,” she answered. Why was everyone suddenly being so cryptic about everything?

“What do you have for me?”

“Pictures,” she said. She gave me the folder. I raised an eyebrow at her, but she was unphased. I flipped through the pictures.

They were horrific.

There were two dead bodies and blood everywhere. One riddled in bullet holes, the other was ripped apart. The one that was ripped apart had been in a suit. The one that had been shot was in an asylum issue outfit.

“Is that-?”

“One of the missing patients,” Katie confirmed. I flipped through more. There was one of when the patient was still alive. The look in his eye was feral. He looked murderous. He looked like an animal.

I almost vomited when I looked at the last one. The patient was digging his teeth into the suited man. I could see the blood on the teeth. His nails dug into flesh. He was eating the other man. I put it down quickly.

“How did you get these?” I asked. There was no way someone Katie’s age should have been able to find this. There was no way she should have been able to get these photographs.

“Right place, right time. Or wrong place, wrong time, depending on how you look at it,” she said. She said it casually, but at least she looked at the photographs with disgust. That was a normal reaction.

“Who was the man he, you know . . .” I didn’t want to say ate. I didn’t want to think about that. My stomach churned at the thought.

“A low-level mobster. Works, well, worked, for Roman Sionis. At least, that’s what I heard.”

How did she hear all of this? This was insane. She was seven-fucking-teen.

“Do you believe me now? I think Strange is trying to make weapons. Or bargaining chips.”

This was crazy. This wasn’t ok. This wasn’t what I wanted to look into. I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want this case anymore. Abused patients and a copycat murderer was one thing. Missing and cannibalistic patients was another.

“Ok, ok,” I breathed in and out. “Thanks, Katie, for the photos, but I’m done. I can’t do this. This is way beyond me or you. I shouldn’t have let you do this. This is way too dangerous for you and me.”

“You’re giving up?” she asked. She sounded genuinely upset. I still didn’t understand why. From where I stood, it seemed like she had no reason to be so involved.

“I’m an investigative journalist, and I get that I’m supposed to dig into things like the corruption that goes on, but this is beyond me. I’ll give this to the cops, but then I’m done with it. You can help them.”

“But I can’t! You don’t understand,” she argued.

“No, I fucking don’t! But I do understand that some things are just too dangerous. Do you not understand that?” I asked her. I didn’t mean to sound harsh, but she didn’t get it. Most people would be terrified by a venture such as this. Why wasn’t she?

Katie didn’t answer. She put her head down. 

“Look, the cops will take care of it. I’ve met Gordon, he’s a good man. He’ll make sure this gets fixed,” I tried to assure her. “I’m sure the photos you took will help. We can bring them-”

“They can’t know it’s me. I don’t care if you give them to Gordon. Hell, give them to Batman. Just don’t tell them you got them from me. Please, Ms. Connery? It can’t get out that I helped you,” Katie said quietly.

I silently wondered why she was so against anyone finding out about her involvement. Parents freaking out, probably. I remembered how scared she had been when she first visited me. Her parents must not know about her ventures, which I doubted were legal.

“Fine, I won’t say it was you. But if you’re not coming forward, I think it’s best if you stay out of this ordeal then. I wasn’t kidding, Kate-”

“My name is Katie!” she exclaimed. Heads turned toward us.

“Katie, I’m sorry,” I apologized. “This isn’t like anything I’ve investigated before. What I have is virtually nothing on the head of Arkham and photos of a cannibalistic patient. I can’t do this on my own.”

“I get it,” she mumbled. I felt bad. This girl just wanted to help, but I don’t think she realized how in over her head she was.

“I won’t contact you again. I’m sorry if I caused any trouble,” Katie continued.

“You caused no trouble,” I said, hoping I sounded genuine. She stood to leave. “Wait, Katie, how do you know Sam?”

“What makes you think I know him?”

“The looks.”

“I don’t really know him. I’ve just seen him around, and he’s been a dick to me every time I’ve seen him.”

That made little sense. Sam wasn’t that kind of person, especially to a child. Sam liked kids. She must’ve had the wrong person. I wouldn’t argue with her, though. She sounded so sure. I didn’t want to make her anymore upset than she was.

“I’m sorry again, Ms. Connery.”

I joined Sam outside, meeting him where I’d left him. He looked nervous about something.

“So you’re mean to kids?” I asked him.

“Not anymore,” he said. He sounded so serious. I meant to tease him. My comment wasn’t meant to be taken seriously. And what did ‘not anymore’ mean?

Why was everything suddenly so fucked up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title borrowed from Ernest Hemingway


	8. Where Angels Fear To Tread

A month after I met Katie-with-no-last-name, my plans fell through the roof. I would need a story to explain why I was outside of the one place in this city I hated: Arkham Asylum.

The day after I met with Katie at the cafe, I went to the cops like I said I would. I gave Detective Renee Montoya the photos. It didn’t surprise me when she asked where I got them. Since I had promised Katie I wouldn’t mention her name, I used the anonymous source card. It wasn’t something I wanted to do, but I promised her. 

And I never ended up dropping the case. Montoya had taken the photos to Gordon, and he asked me if I would stay on the story since I had done such a good job with the last one. I wanted to say no, but if the Commissioner asks you to do something, it’s probably a good idea to say yes. So I stayed on the story. That was only part of the reason I was at Arkham.

The other involved Jonathan. He’d finally been captured and returned to the asylum. It had been Bruce Wayne’s idea to speak to him. I loathed to think about speaking to Jonathan again, but he was on the inside. There was a good chance he would know something.

So could Zsasz, though. And I had no real personal connections to him.

It’d been a long time since I’d been in this building. I still hated it. It was still so, so loud. The patients still sounded miserable. The building was the same. It may have been the only thing that hadn’t changed with time. That was a sad thought.

I walked to the receptionist. She looked bored. They always looked bored. The woman didn't even look at me.

“Hello,” I said. She kept her head down.

“What?” She didn’t sound happy.

“I’m here to see a patient.”

“Your name?”

“Amber Connery.”

She glanced up. “Here to visit your boyfriend, I see.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said firmly. The woman didn’t appear as if she cared. She motioned to one of the orderlies passing us.

“Take her to the visitor’s room,” she said.

I followed the male down the hall. I vaguely remembered the path we were taking because I was sure I had taken it once before. He stopped before a room and opened the door leading inside it. There were guards beside the door. There was no warning from them. I didn’t need it; I’d done this before.

Jonathan sat straight up in the chair. His wrists were chained to the arms and I’m sure his ankles to the legs. He was calm, not agitated. Passive, not aggressive. I’m not sure which I would have rather had.

“It rather surprised me to hear you wanted to come here, Amber,” he said. His voice was the same. Cold. Clinical.

“I have questions.”

“Another story you have no control over? You’re getting yourself into far deeper trouble than I would have thought you capable of.”

“You taught with Hugo Strange? You never mentioned that. Tell me about him,” I demanded. It had taken me an embarrassingly long time to come to that conclusion. 

“Do you want a description? Or confirmation that he is the one making patients disappear?” Jonathan asked. Both would have been preferable. I would accept the latter more than the former, though.

“I’ll take either at the point I’m at.”

“He’s obsessive, though intelligent. Sadistic and unstable,” Jonathan listed, sounding incredibly bored. It sounded like everything I had previously heard about Strange. There was nothing new that Jonathan was saying.

“Do you have confirmation?” I asked. Jonathan’s blue eyes pierced mine. Then he smirked.

“I can’t tell you.”

My brain stopped. He definitely knew something.

“Why can’t you tell me?”

“I’m protecting you. Whether you choose to believe that is up to you.”

“What are you protecting me from?”

That was most definitely a confirmation of something. Something dangerous if I apparently needed protection. Or else Jonathan was trying to twist my mind. That was also a possibility. A possibility I didn’t want to think about.

“From what, Jonathan?” I repeated when he didn’t answer.

“You’ve made yourself a target. People used to think Vale was Gotham’s peskiest journalist. But you’ve gained more unwanted attention. I would advise you to drop this story.”

“I tried,” I said, “but Gordon asked me to stay on it. Who’s targeting me?”

“I know you’re not stupid, Amber,” he said quietly.

I stood from the chair. He was right; I wasn’t stupid. Not enough to stay in the room with him. I went to the door, knocked, and stalked out when the guards opened it.

I hated Jonathan Crane.

I sat in my car in the lot, trying to sort through the thoughts going through my head. The first was that I probably would have gotten more out of Zsasz, sad as it may have been. I wondered if he remembered me. The second was that Jonathan had warned me about something. The third was that everything I knew was something. No hard facts. Only somethings. 

My phone rang.

“Yeah?” I answered.

“Amber, you need to get home now!” It was Zoey.

“Why?”

“Someone broke into your apartment.”

She started to talk again, but I hung up before she could get the rest out. The time it took for me to get to my apartment might have been cut in half.

When I got home, I thought Zoey had lied. My door hadn’t been broken down. I turned to the goth, still dressed in her work clothes, who’d been waiting beside my door.

“Seriously?”

“No, please hear me out,” she said quickly. “I didn’t know you went to the asylum today. I just got back from work and your door was locked. I wanted to make sure you hadn’t worked yourself to death on this story. So I used the key you gave me to get in.”

Both Zoey and Sam had keys to my apartment. Part of the reason was because I trusted them. The primary reason was because, like Zoey said, I wanted them to be able to get in if I refused to come out. It happened more often than I would have liked to admit. But Zoey’s story was ridiculous.

I unlocked the door. Again, that made little sense. Even if they picked the lock, why lock the door again?

Papers were everywhere. The one who broke in broke a few unimportant items. But what did they take?

“They locked the door when they left. That makes no sense,” Zoey said.

My phone rang again.

“What?” I snapped. Now was a terrible time to call me. My day had turned awful in a matter of hours.

“It’s Gordon, Ms. Connery.”

Damn.

“Sorry, it's been a bad day. What do you need, Commissioner?”

“I need you to come down to the station.”

“Yeah. Ok. I’ll be down,” I said, trying to calm down. What could he want? I knew it was nothing good.

“Zoey, can I ask-”

“No problem. I’ll see if I’ll see if they took anything.”

What were the chances of this day getting any worse than it already was?

______________________________________________________________________________

The chances were high.

Another missing patient was dead. There were more pictures, like the ones Katie showed me. More signs of cannibalism and a gory death.

“Please tell me you’ve found something because I haven’t,” I said quietly.

“I’m afraid not,” he said.

“This is disgusting.”

Gordon nodded. “I have my best working on this. We’ll figure this out.”

“How? There’s nothing. I’ve looked everywhere, and there is nothing to help us.”

“Something will pop up.” He sounded so confident. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe him so much because I had no hope at all.

“My apartment was broken into. Do you think this has anything to do with this?” I asked.

“Was anything taken?”

“My friend’s looking. She knows my place almost as well as hers.”

Jonathan’s warning echoed in my head.  _ Target. You’re a target.  _ For who was the question.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead,” he said. His attention turned to the stack of papers on his desk.

“What is it, Zoey?” I asked.

“Your notes are gone. This case and the other Arkham one.”

“All of them?” I asked. Anxiety bubbled in my stomach. I needed those notes. Those notes were the only leads I had on this case.

“Yeah,” she confirmed. My heart dropped to my stomach.

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title borrowed from E.M. Forster


	9. What We Talk About When We Talk About Love

Notes: gone. Case: destroyed. What little I had was gone. There was nothing left. Nothing at all. This is what I was complaining to Zoey and Sam about.

“Everything’s gone, Sam,” I moaned. I stretched out on Zoey’s couch, my head in Sam’s lap. Zoey’s cat Shadow was on my legs. Lucifer was on Zoey, who sat cross-legged on the floor.

“Getting in without a key is easy. But locking the door again? What’s the point of that?” Sam asked.

“Who the hell knows?” I said.

“You’re sure they didn’t come through the window?”

“The window locks from the inside. It would have been impossible. And have you tried to open Amber’s windows? Talk about impossible, anyway,” Zoey said.

I didn’t care how the person got in. Everything I had on both cases was gone. Disappeared. Most likely a pile of ashes. I was back at square zero.

Shadow must have sensed how miserable I was. He nuzzled against my cheek.

There was a knock at Zoey’s door. She pushed Lucifer off of her and got off the floor. Sam patted my head when she left to get the door. It felt sort of nice.

“Amber! Edward’s here!” Zoey called. I groaned. I didn’t want to talk to him.

“Eddie baby’s waiting for you,” Sam said when I didn’t move. 

I started to get up. “I’m only going just because I know you’ll keep saying that. You know I hate it.”

Sam smirked. “I know.”

Edward was leaning against Zoey’s doorway. I pushed him into the hall and shut the door behind us. He stood there, self-assured as always. His face was adorned with his everlasting smirk. I wasn’t in the mood for his narcissism or theatrics.

“I’m warning you now, Edward, I’m not happy,” I said. He took me by the arm.

“I heard about what happened. You and I are going out to lift your mood,” he said. He started pulling me down the hall.

“What? Maybe I don’t want to go.” I didn’t do much in the way of resisting, even as I said that.

“I think you do.”

I rolled my eyes. He was so stupidly confident it was ridiculous. I had never met someone so full of themselves.

Even if he was right.

I had expected him to take me somewhere with higher standards than I had ever had. He didn’t, most likely because I look awful. He might’ve looked fine, but I looked like trash. It surprised me he even wanted anyone to see me with him.

No, he took us to the bar where we met. Not that I was complaining. I really needed a drink.

“Do you want to talk about your situation?” he asked.

“Not really,” I said. He leaned against the counter.

“Why?”

“Because I’m pissed. I’m furious. And a lot of other things. I don’t want to talk about the damn story, the damn asylum, or anything else I should be writing about.”

“Did you quit?” Edward asked. He was sipping some green drink. It looked nasty.

“No. I think I’m pissed enough that I want to try again. It’s not like I had much to start with anyway,” I said. “But I don't want to talk about that. Talk about something else.”

“Something else?” he said. His smirk grew bigger. “Romance?”

“What romance?” I laughed. “No, no romance.”

“No time or no interest?” he asked. Edward leaned closer. I could smell mint on his breath.

“Both? But I suppose it would be no time more than no interest.”

“So you do have an interest?”

“I never said that.”

Edward chuckled. “You didn’t have to, my dear.”

I didn’t know what he meant. I mean, I did, I knew what he was implying. Edward couldn’t possibly have an interest in me, though. I was too plain and far less intelligent than he was. I hardly thought I was the type he ever took an interest in.

“What about you?” I asked, hoping to steer the conversation from me and onto him.

“There is one woman. Red hair, hazel eyes. A light splash of freckles across her nose. Annoying at certain times and far too inquisitive. Smart, kind, but can have a mean-streak. Do you have any idea who I’m talking about, Amber?” he rattled off. I sat wide-eyed. My cheeks warmed.

“No idea,” I said softly. I swear he got even closer.

“You’re sure?” he asked again.

“Yeah,” I whispered.

He kissed me. And I let him. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I did, and I hated it. I did, and I loved it. It was amazing and terrible. It was something part of me wanted, but another, smaller part didn’t want. But I let him. I let him with little hesitation.

There was no doubt in my mind that it had been the best part of my awful week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title borrowed from Raymond Carver  
> So, I think this is the shortest chapter in this book.


	10. Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits

The search for new information was a long, ongoing process. Edward had helped by giving me the information on Strange again. The little else I had was from memory, and that wouldn’t be good enough. Some of my information would be impossible to get again. Going to Arkham was not an option I wanted to explore again, if they would even allow me inside. Vicki had also tried to help. I doubted the information she gave would help, but she was trying.

Paul had told me information had gone missing, but never had a journalist had their home broken into for someone to steal information. He said that I must have been getting close to something, and people were getting threatened. That made me wonder how anyone could have known what I knew and what I was even getting close to. The cops still had the pictures Katie had taken.

Katie was still an option, if I could find her. Actually, Katie might have been my best option, even if I didn’t really want to talk to her. She was a kid. I didn’t want to drag a kid into this mess. But somehow, Katie knew things. I needed the things she knew.

I called Zoey, hoping she was still at home. She picked up and in the background a cat hissed. She told it to shut up.

“Zoey here.”

“Amber here,” I repeated lightly.

“Aren’t you at work?”

“I need you to tell me where Katie lives or works,” I said. “I know you know where those places are. You’re close to her.”

“No.”

“It’s important that you don’t look for her. She’ll contact you if she wants to talk.”

“But I need to talk to her! Please, you have to tell me. This could be a breaking point in this stupid case,” I begged, dropping the firm tone. I didn’t want this case anymore. Was it selfish to want to involve a child, just so the case could be closed? Yes, it was. I knew it was. But I didn’t know what else to do.

“I can’t betray Katie’s trust. I’m sorry, Amber,” Zoey said. She hung up the phone.

Fine. I’d find her myself with what I knew about her. Her name was Katie, and she was a photographer. There were four major photography agencies in Gotham.

And none of them had a Katie or a Kate. Two of them had Katherines and three had a Kathleen employed. None of them were the Katie I was looking for.

“Looking for a photographer?” Paul’s voice suddenly came from behind me.

“Yeah, a specific one I’ve heard about. First name Katie. No last name,” I lied. Well, half lied. Paul started mumbling under his breath. I caught her name.

“Does she have blue-streaked blonde hair?” he asked.

“You know her?”

“Me? No. About two years ago, she took campaign pictures for Harvey Dent. But she doesn’t work for a big company. She works for a small one in the East End,” Paul explained.

I frowned, wondering how Katie was able to take pictures for such a high standing member of society at fifteen. Probably the same way she could find out all the stuff she did now. I doubted it was legal.

Then I grinned. This Katie wasn’t about to escape from me again.

______________________________________________________________________________

The building was small. So small I almost missed it. It looked rundown, too. I wondered why Harvey Dent would get his pictures done out of such a place. It wasn’t like he was short on money.

The inside seemed even smaller. A portly man sat at the counter. He was fiddling with a camera.

“I’m looking for Katie,” I said to the man. I stayed away from him.

“She’s developing pictures. She’ll be out in five,” the man said, continuing to mess with the camera. A broken 9mm, it looked like.

It was closer to ten minutes late before she came out from a room in the back. She saw me and her eyes widened. She grabbed my wrist and pulled me to a corner of the room.

“Why are you here?” she hissed.

“Looking for you. We need to talk.”

“You made it clear you don’t want to talk to me. I can’t talk now, anyway. My ride’s gonna be here any minute.”

“Two minutes,” I offered.

“No,” she said, sounding firm. 

A big, burly man entered the building. His eyes landed on Katie and he cocked his head toward the door. She held up one finger. Who was the man? He didn’t look like her, so I doubted it was her father.

“Talk to Sam Evans,” she whispered. “Or your new boyfriend, Edward.”

“Katie,” the man said. He sounded like he was warning her.

“One minute,” Katie said. She turned back to me. “Talk to Sam Evans or Edward Nigma. Ask them. I’m sorry, but I can’t say anymore right now.”

A horn blared from outside.

“Katie!” the man pushed. “We’re leaving.”

He took her arm and pulled her outside. I followed them and was shocked to see her ushered into a black limousine. 

Who the hell was this girl?

I walked outside and saw the limousine drive toward the richer part of Gotham. There was no way Katie could afford to live in that part of the city. Not if she worked in a place like the studio. I wanted to know more about her, but she wasn’t my top priority. According to her, Sam and Edward were the top priorities.

But how did she know about Edward and I? We didn’t go out in public much together, and I hadn’t seen Katie since I rejected her help. How did this damn girl know so much?

______________________________________________________________________________

Edward wasn’t answering his phone. Neither was Sam. I didn’t know where Edward lived, but I knew where Sam lived.

My phone rang as I trudged up the stairs. The building’s elevator worked off and on. It was usually more off than on, though.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Connery, I’m from Arkham Asylum. One of the doctors would like to make a request to speak with you,” a man droned over the phone. I figured they must have gotten a new receptionist.

“With me? By who?” I asked. There was no way I would go unless I knew who I would be speaking to.

There was a rustle of papers on the other line. “Dr. Strange. Is that alright, Ms. Connery? He would like to speak with you as soon as possible.”

I gripped the phone in my hands. Why would that man want to speak with me? He must have known I was investigating him. That was the only thing that I could think of that could make sense.

“Ms. Connery? Are you still there?” the man asked. It broke me from my trance.

“Yeah, I am. Sorry about that. The soonest I can make time is next week. Would that be fine?” It was a lie. I had far more open spots that I shouldn’t have had to wait a week. I guess I wasn’t ready to admit to myself that I was scared.

And I definitely was not thinking about what Katie had told me Strange did with the missing patients.

“Next week would be fine, Ms. Connery. Will Monday be good for you? Say around four?” the man asked.

No. I mean, the actual answer was yes, it was fine. But I didn’t want to go. At all. I wanted to avoid the asylum and Strange. I never wanted to go back to the asylum.

“Yeah, that would be alright,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I doubt it was successful.

“Perfect. Thank you for your time. We’ll be expecting you on Monday.”

I put the phone away. Sam had better have been home. He better have had the answers I wanted and needed. I needed a bright side to this god awful day. I knocked on Sam’s door. He opened it almost immediately, looking like he was ready to leave.

“Going somewhere?” I asked.

“Work stuff. What d’you need?” Sam asked. He spoke quickly, like he was in a hurry. And when I thought about it, Sam had never told me what he did for work.

“I had some questions for you. But if you’re busy, we can talk later.”

“Great. Sorry, Amber. Gotta go, can’t be late,” he said quickly. I stood back and watched him lock his door. He had his key on a ring. A key to my apartment and Zoey’s was on the ring, too. Just like I had a key to both his and Zoey’s apartments. The three of us had trusted each other enough to give each other keys to our apartments. At least, we were supposed to have held the trust of the other.

No. No, Sam would not have taken my notes. He was one of my best friends. He would not have done that. Besides, he had no reason to take them. He wanted this case solved as much as I did. And if I was being reasonable, it was Zoey who was more likely to have taken them. She was the one in my apartment the day they were taken with no reason. Looking at the facts, it was more likely to have been Zoey. That didn’t mean I wanted her to have taken them. I didn’t want it to have been either of them.

I looked at the door to my apartment across the hall. I didn’t want to go in there. I needed to talk to someone. And I didn’t want to be in my home. Zoey was out of the question. She would be getting ready for work. It was late. Zoey only worked nights.

My phone was suddenly in my hand again. Edward picked up after the fourth ring.

“What is it, Amber?” he asked. There was rattling in the background. It sounded like he was working on something mechanical. I had never taken Edward as having an interest in mechanics.

“Are you busy?”

“Yes. Did you need something,” he said after a moment's pause.

“I need to talk to someone.” I hated how quiet my voice sounded. 

There was another, longer pause. If it wasn’t for the noises in the background, I would have thought he’d hung up.

“Did you want to come over?”

“Yes,” I said. I wanted to see him, not only talk to him.

“Then I’ll be waiting,” he said. He gave me an address, and the phone went silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title borrowed from Laila Lalami


	11. Because It Is Bitter, and Because It Is My Heart

“What did you want to talk about?” Edward asked, handing me a glass of wine. 

“Everything. My life’s such a mess right now. But then, I guess it kind of always has been,” I said as I accepted the glass, though I didn’t drink.

“Your life has always been a mess?” Edward asked, his eyebrow cocked. He sat beside me, a wineglass in his own hand.

“Believe it or not, yes. Even before I came to this city, I had my fair share of problems,” I paused for a moment. “Well, there was a window of a few years when I was in college. Things were alright then.”

“Is that why you and Dr. Crane got on so well?”

“Probably,” I said without asking myself why Edward would ask that question. I didn’t ask myself how he might have known Jonathan had plenty of problems of his own.

“Yes, well, while I have always been perfect, the case with my life hasn’t been so, either,” Edward said. I couldn’t help but laugh quietly, but not at him. I had been wondering how long it would take before Edward’s narcissism showed through.

“What do you mean?” I asked. I took a sip from the glass.

“A mother who abandoned me when I was a child and a father who abused me,” he said simply. He sounded like he didn’t care. I think he cared, though. More than he let on. And I didn’t miss the parallels it had with my own childhood.

“That’s. . . exactly me,” I told him. It was like my childhood. Edward didn’t seem as surprised as I was. He only nodded. I got the sense he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

“Hugo Strange wants to meet with me,” I said, changing the subject. Edward’s eyebrow rose again.

“He knows about you?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“He must, or someone told him about me. I’ll be speaking with him on Monday.”

“Are you nervous?” 

“Of course I am. After what I’ve heard about him, I’d be stupid to not be wary,” I answered, this time taking a long drink. Edward got closer and put an arm around my shoulder.

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” he asked. “Strange?”

“Partly. The other thing was Sam. . .” It wasn’t just Sam, I remembered. Katie had mentioned Edward, too.

“Your friend Sam?”

“Yeah. I’ve heard he might know something about Arkham.”

“And I suppose you became upset because he is your friend and you don’t want to imagine him having any part of this problem,” Edward said.

“Exactly. I don’t want to, but I can’t help but be cautious of him, based on some of the things he said and done. I’m even wary of Zoey. Those two are my best friends. I shouldn’t think they would have any part in something so terrible,” I explained. Edward hummed. His fingers tapped lightly on his knee. I waited for an answer. Anything to keep me grounded.

He kept quiet.

“I was told you know more than you’re telling me, too,” I said before I could talk myself out of saying it. His fingers stopped moving. “Please tell me they were lying. Tell me you don’t know anything.”

“You think I’m lying to you?” he asked instead.

“I think everyone is lying to me.”

“You think everyone is lying to you?”

“Yes. And I hate that I feel this way,” I mumbled. The wine was gone in the next swallow. “Promise me you’re not lying to me, Edward.”

“That’s a heavy commitment.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“But it is for many. However, I promise you I have nothing to do with this scheme.” He paused. “I would say I swear to God, but that wouldn’t hold much meaning for you, I take it.”

“I’d respect it if you actually believed in God, but I know very well you don’t, Edward Nigma.”

I suddenly realized how late it was getting. Nearly 12:30 P.M. late.

“I should go. Thank you for talking to me. I feel, not exactly better, but-”

“Validated,” he interrupted.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good word,” I agreed. It was quiet as I started getting ready to leave.

“You could stay,” Edward said quickly. “You were drinking. You shouldn’t be driving.”

“One glass of wine won’t impair me. I’m fine. I can always get a cab, too.”

“You’d be safer staying here.”

It was clear Edward wasn’t concerned about the alcohol, though he was right about it being dangerous, especially this late. He wanted me to stay just because he did. I had known Edward long enough that the answer should have been simple. It should have been an easy  _ yes _ . Yet there was hesitation, all because of a similar situation: the first time Jonathan had asked me to stay.

I should have been over him. There was no reason to still be thinking about Jonathan Crane, yet he somehow continued to dictate parts of my life. Why was he still a constant presence when he wasn’t even there? Almost every hesitation was because of him. Why could I not stop thinking about a cold, calculated voice, lanky limbs, and bright blue eyes? Why could I not-?

“Amber? Are you alright?” Edward asked.

“I think it’s best I leave. I’m sorry, Edward.”

What was wrong with me? Edward didn’t deserve this. Not me, whose thoughts were plagued by another man. How was I meant to explain that to him? Could I even put it into words? To be honest, he might have already known, smart as he was. I think it would have been so much worse if he knew.

Why, why could I not keep Jonathan fucking Crane out of my head?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where the angst at the end came from. . . this was meant to be a nice conversation between Amber and Edward. What happened. . .   
> Chapter title borrowed from Joyce Carol Oates.


	12. Everything That Rises Must Converge

If there was a god that existed, he or she would have been having a good laugh at the soap opera known as Amber Connery’s life. Every time I told myself there would be no more asylum, there was somehow always more asylum. If gods existed, they for sure would have had a sick sense of humor because I didn’t think any of this was funny.

The receptionist was the male I’d most likely spoken to on the phone. Arkham went through them so quickly. I briefly wondered what happened to the last woman to have made her quit.

“Dr. Strange is expecting me,” I said without preamble. I wanted this over with.

“I was told you know where his office is.”

I nodded and started off down the hall when he added nothing else. Was leaving a visitor to wander around alone even allowed? I highly doubted it was, but I also doubted anyone would care.

The door to the director’s office seemed so much more daunting now. My heart thumped loudly in my chest. The only little thing that calmed me was the fact that Zoey knew where I was. I had told Zoey that if I was gone too long or I didn’t answer my phone, then she could call the cops. That thought calmed me only the slightest bit. The insinuation behind what I meant when I said that didn’t.

I really hoped that was only a what-if scenario.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door. A deep, German-accented voice responded. I opened the door and stepped inside the room. I shut the door behind me. 

The office itself wasn’t much different from the last time I had been in it. Maybe it was a bit more organized than when Jeremiah Arkham had used the office, and I could hardly compare it to what it had looked like when Jonathan had been the director. Jonathan had never used the office. The atmosphere, however, was far from the same. There was something about Hugo Strange that was far more menacing than Jeremiah Arkham. The gaze he set upon me was more like Jonathan’s, cold and calculating. Strange was studying me.

The silence was deafening.

“You wanted to speak with me, Doctor?” I finally spoke up, not being able to take the quiet anymore.

“I did. I was hoping to address some rumors I have heard,” he said. He spoke slowly. Measured. Sure of what he wanted to say.

“And those are?” I asked, even though I knew very well what they were.

“Do you deny that you have been investigating matters concerning me? On what grounds are you conducting this investigation?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve heard-”

“Heard? You seek to destroy my reputation based on things you have simply heard? You have nothing to fight against me with.”

“That’s how most stories start. That’s how-”

“I know about Jeremiah Arkham, Ms. Connery. I read your article,” Dr. Strange interrupted again. The fact that he was able to guess that was what I was going to say was impressive, but I was getting annoyed by his constant interruptions.

“Patients are going missing in your asylum, Doctor. It is cause for some investigation. My title isn’t investigative journalist for nothing. I’m just doing my job. I apologize if you’re offended by that, but it’s what I’m supposed to do,” I said. “And I think you should be more concerned about what I’ve heard. The stories aren’t pretty. It should be of concern that others know about them.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

The man stood from his desk. He stood at about six foot. Shorter than Jonathan, but he still towered about me. He came closer until I had to crane my neck to look him in the eye.

“Is that a threat, Ms. Connery?” he asked, his voice quieter than it had been before.

I dug my fingernails into my palm and swallowed. “No, sir. Of course not.”

“I would advise you to keep your thoughts to yourself. They may get you into trouble one day.”

“Was there anything else you wanted? Or was this meant to be a meet-and-greet?” I asked, wanting nothing more than to get out of the office and away from this man.

“Again with that tongue of yours. I would also advise you to keep it and your meddling out of business concerning me. It will not benefit you,” he said. He drew back to his desk and sat down. “You are free to go, Ms. Connery. Do not take this the wrong way, but I hope I never see you here again.”

That was a threat. One I wouldn’t call him out on. I had already made too many mistakes. I left as quickly as I could without appearing to be nervous. I’m more than positive I failed in that respect.

Once I reached the front of the building, I found myself moving back toward the receptionist. I didn’t want to leave yet. Well, I did, but I felt like I needed to talk to Jonathan. I tried to shake off the feeling as I got closer to the desk.

I failed there, too.

“Can I talk to Jonathan Crane?” I asked the man at the front desk.

“Crane is in a session now.”

“Can I talk to him afterward?”

“Let me check,” the man said. He picked up a binder and flipped through the pages. This was new. He stopped to skim over a page.

“I’m sorry, but you’re listed as someone who isn’t allowed to speak with him.”

What?

“I’m sorry, what? When did this change? Why can’t I see him?” I asked.

“Dr. Strange is the one who put your name on the list. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more,” the man said. He at least sounded genuine in his apology. Even if it wasn’t his fault.

“Can you tell me anyone else who isn’t allowed to see him?

“I really shouldn’t. . .”

“Only so I can let them know. You wouldn’t want their time, or yours for that matter, to be wasted, do you?”

“I suppose there’s no harm in that. Let’s see, Vicki Vale and someone named Katie VaSeer.”

Vicki made sense. Strange most likely knew that Vicki and I worked together sometimes. He wouldn’t want someone close to me getting any information that Jonathan may have had. It was a moot point, though. Jonathan hated Vicki Vale, that was no secret. He never would have spoken to her. But what the hell had Katie been doing talking to Jonathan? She hadn’t even indicated that she knew him. Thus I was presented with the same question as always: who the fuck was Katie?

At least now I had a last name.

“Well, thanks for letting me know,” I said.

“I’m sorry you can’t speak with him,” he said. 

“Not your fault. Can I check one more thing, though?” I was curious about something.

“Name it.”

“Am I allowed to speak with Victor Zsasz? I’m only wondering because I’ve spoken with him in the past.”

“Give me a moment,” he said. He picked up the binder again. I waited for him to stop flipping through pages. “It looks like it’s a no for him, too.”

“Is there anyone I can talk to? Patient-wise, I mean. How can you tell I can’t talk to them, anyway?” I asked the man. He flipped through more pages, answering me as he did.

“This is basically the ‘blacklist’ of the asylum. Most patients have a list of people who are considered bad for their recovery. Then they get added to the list,” the man explained.

“A computer could do it faster.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re a little old-fashioned,” he said with a small smile. “And it looks like you’re on most of the pages, which I’ll admit is a little odd considering I’ve heard some pretty good things about you. Based on a quick glance, it looks like you could speak to Drury Walker.”

Who the hell was Drury Walker? I’d never even heard of him.

“I’ll pass. Thank you for checking, I really appreciate it. Sorry for wasting your time,” I said.

“It was no problem. If there’s anything else you need, I’ll be here.”

He’d probably be gone in a month. Which was a shame because he seemed genuinely kind.

But back to the important matter, which was Strange listing me as bad for Jonathan’s recovery. Not only his, but apparently everyone else’s as well. Except for that Walker person. That was obviously not the real reason. The real reason was that he didn’t want me getting anything that could incriminate him.

And seriously, why the hell had Katie been visiting Jonathan?

______________________________________________________________________________

“Zoey, we have a lot to talk about,” I said when she let me into her apartment. Instead of walking into her living room, she went to the kitchen. I went to the sofa.

“Do you want coffee?” she asked.

“Please.”

She walked up holding two mugs. Hers had sugar. Mine, as always, had too much cream and sugar. I was the only reason she kept cream in her home.

“What happened, Amber?” Zoey asked, sitting next to me.

I explained to her the conversation I had had with Strange, and then the one after with the receptionist. She was quiet throughout my whole story, and then she was quiet after I finished. And then I brought up Katie.

“What was Katie doing in Arkham?” Zoey asked, more to herself than to me.

“What was she doing talking to Jonathan? You know her Zoey, you should talk to her.”

“I doubt she’ll even tell me. She’s so secretive with everything. I don’t even know how she affords to dress the way she does or get the color for her hair. And I’m pretty sure she goes to that private school here. Gotham Academy,” Zoey said.

“There’s no way she goes to a private school,” I argued. There was absolutely no way, not when she worked in a rundown studio.

“I’ve seen her wear a uniform. I’m pretty sure it’s for a school.”

If I thought any more about Katie, I was going to have an aneurysm. There was just way too much about her that made absolutely no sense. She was a walking contradiction and mystery. Edward would have had a grand time working out who Katie really was.

“So the only patient you’re allowed to talk to is Dewey Walker?” Zoey asked.

“Drury,” I corrected her. “But yeah. I have no idea who that even is.”

“I think I have. Some of the other girls talked about him. He went by another name, too. something Butterfly? Killer Butterfly? It was something pretty dumb. . .” Zoey looked down at her mug. Then her head snapped back up and she snapped her fingers. “Killer Moth! That’s what it was!”

“Killer Moth? Did he think that sounded threatening?”

Zoey shrugged. “I guess. Hey, have you talked to Sam yet?”

“He hasn’t been home.”

“He’s there now. He got back just before you showed up.”

“Really?”

“You should go talk to him now before he disappears again,” she suggested. I nodded and downed the rest of the coffee. And just before I opened up her door, she spoke up again.

“Oh, and Amber? I’ll try to talk to Katie. I want to know what she was doing there, too.”

“Let me know what you hear?” I asked.

“For sure.”

I went across the hall and pounded on Sam’s door. I could hear him making noises inside the apartment. He seemed to be actively avoiding the door.

“Sam Evans, if you don’t open this door right-”

The door swung open. Sam looked, well, he looked awful. He had bruises on his face and his lip was split. His nose was looking a little crooked, too. He was much less energetic than he typically was.

“What happened to you?” I asked. It came out much ruder than I had intended it to.

“Come in,” he sighed. “I’ll explain.”

“You had better.”

He followed me inside the apartment and sat down on his sofa while I sat in a chair. He was nervous. He avoided my eye and frequently glanced down at the floor. His hands were clenching and unclenching.

“I don’t really know where to start,” he said.

“Tell me about your injuries,” I offered. He shook his head.

“I-uh-got into a fight while I was away. It’s not a big deal, I’m okay.”

It was a practiced line that lots of people used when they had something to hide. It didn’t matter. I had other questions.

“Tell me how you know Katie VaSeer, then. And why she says you know more about Strange than you let on.”

His breathing hitched slightly. “That’s. . . gonna take a little while.”

“We have time, trust me.”

“Ok, then.” He took a few steady breaths before he started talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just had to take a shot at Killer Moth, I'm so sorry for all of you who like him. This is, I believe, the longest chapter so far out of this story. 
> 
> Chapter title borrowed from Flannery O'Connor


	13. I Know This Much Is True

“I met Katie a couple of months ago. She was snooping around the Narrows on her own. There was no camera with her.”

“Why were you there?” I interrupted him. I’m sure Zoey used to live in the Narrows, which meant that Katie would also live there. For Sam, it was suspicious for him to have been there. Katie could have just been checking the outside of her building.

“The jobs I take are. . . less than ideal. Sometimes they take me to undesirable places. And the place she was scouting was a hotspot for the mafia.”

Did Sam take jobs for the mafia? Is that what he was implying? Had he been doing this in all the time I had known him?

“There were people inside the building. She was listening at the window. To them. I confronted her. I told her I was going to tell the men inside that a little girl was sneaking around and listening to their conversations. The thing was, she wasn’t scared. She actually threatened  _ me. _ She said she knew someone far more powerful than the men inside. She said I didn’t scare her because the man she knew told her that if anyone even put a scratch on her, the man would return it to me tenfold,” Sam explained.

“Does Katie even have connections like that?” I asked. How could a seventeen-year-old have connections like that? 

Why was I still asking myself these stupid questions? As if any of them would ever get solved.

“I don’t know, but the way she spoke, she was so sure of herself. I didn’t want to take the chance. So later, at another job I took, some of the others I was working with mentioned a girl with blue hair who had been sneaking around. They sounded respectful when they talked about her. It wasn’t until that moment that it occurred to me that she was probably telling the truth.”

This was so damn confusing. I didn’t understand any of it.

“She found me again a week later, suddenly asking about Strange. I told her I didn’t know anything-”

“Do you?” I cut in. He dropped his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you know anything about Strange? Katie said you did.”

“I’ll get to that. But, before I keep talking, is there anything you want me to clear up?”

“I’m going to be confused no matter what you say. Keep talking.”

Sam took in a deep breath, albeit shaky. I wanted to think that I hated making him nervous. Really, though, if he was nervous, I was more likely to get the truth out of him.

“She didn’t believe me. She knew about all the jobs I’d taken and said they would have been of interest to some of the people she knew. Someone who didn’t like some of the jobs I’d been taking.”

“And what did you tell her?” I asked him. Sam didn’t answer. I took his wrist, maybe a little too tight. “Sam, what the hell did you tell her?”

“I told her what I knew about Strange.”

“Are you done being cryptic yet? What the fuck did you tell her?” I was getting more than impatient. “You’d better start talking-”

“I told her I knew that Strange was talking to the mobs about money or payments or some shit like that. He’s in deep and taking drastic steps to getting himself out of debt. That’s all I know, I swear, Amber,” Sam pleaded.

“So you did fucking know something about Strange,” I said quietly. Sam looked guilty. More than guilty. I didn’t care.

“Yeah, I did. I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“And you work for the mobs?”

“Sometimes.”

I couldn’t believe this. Sam had been lying to me for months. Sam worked for the mobs. He knew Katie. He knew some of what was happening with Strange. 

“Are you the one who stole my papers?” I asked, hoping the answer wasn’t what I thought it was.

Sam was silent.

“Did you steal my papers, Sam? Are you the one who broke into my apartment?” I asked again, much slower this time.

“They made me,” he said, so softly I could barely hear him.

“You-fuck!” I stood up and put both hands on the back of my head before starting to pace back and forth. “You broke into my apartment and stole all of my information? For what? You’re working for Strange, aren’t you?”

“No no no no,” Sam said quickly. He also stood up. He put his hand on my shoulder. I pulled away from him.

“You expect me to believe you? Fuck off. The only reason I won’t be going to the police is because I don’t give a damn anymore. It’s all gone, isn’t it?”

“Burned.” Sam stood there like a lost puppy. Good. 

“Damn it. I really thought I could. . .”

The words ‘trust you’ were left unspoken. Sam knew what I meant.

“Sky’s not always blue, right?” Sam asked quietly. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets.

“No. No, it’s not,” I said.

I slammed the door when I left.

Zoey’s door was locked. She was still gone. Either with Katie or working. 

It made so much more sense now why Katie wanted to avoid Sam. I felt there was more to Sam and Katie’s story, more than he was telling me. I would never find out. I wanted Sam Evans out of my life.

I hated him. I hated Sam Evans.

At least, I wanted to.

Part of me thought I could never hate him, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title borrowed from Wally Lamb


	14. The Far Side of Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm gonna put a little warning at the beginning of this one. It's nothing terribly bad, just some creepiness between an adult man and an underage girl. It's probably not necessary, but I'm gonna put one just in case.

“I couldn’t find Katie.”

It was the day after I had spoken to Sam. Zoey knew all about the conversation Sam and I had shared. She was as surprised as I was when she found out what he had been doing when he was away. But while I had been angry and betrayed, she had seemed sad.

“She wasn’t home? Did you check the studio she works at?” I asked. Lucifer crawled into my lap. I patted his head.

“I know when she works, she wouldn’t have been there. She usually tells me about any appointments she has. How did you know it was our Katie, anyway? You didn’t know her last name,” Zoey asked. Shadow was nuzzled up against her thigh.

“Gut feeling. I have yet to meet someone nicknamed Katie, who seems to have her hands everywhere in Gotham.”

“Katie is actually her name. It’s not short for anything. That’s what she told me.”

“Just Katie? And she doesn’t go by Kate,” I added. “She snapped at me for that.”

“She hates being called Kate. I couldn’t tell you why,” Zoey said. She picked up Shadow and held onto him. He tried wrestling away until finally settling in her arms. Lucifer purred loudly from where he was sitting on my legs.

“Is VaSeer actually her last name? It’s sort of ironic, since she seems to know everything,” I asked. It sounded fake.

“Yeah, it is. I’ve actually known her for three years. It’s her mom’s last name. Marci was a prostitute, too,” Zoey said, unafraid to throw around the word prostitute. She didn’t seem to be afraid of anything, honestly. If I asked her to do anything, she did it without much hesitation. Then again, she grew up in Gotham. She had to be tough.

“Was?”

“She died.”

“She lives with her dad, then?” I asked.

“No. She lives on her own. You can live on your own in Gotham at 16 if you have a job,” Zoey said. I stared at her in disbelief. “It’s true, Amber. You can look it up. It’s not necessarily a  _ good  _ idea, but it’s possible. That should go to show how shit this city is.”

It really did.

Zoey and I sat in silence for a while, both of us still holding cats. Despite his name, Lucifer was not at all devilish. He was sweet. Shadow was the temperamental one.

“Sam said Katie was working for some shady people. Do you believe that?” I asked her suddenly. 

Zoey stroked Shadow. “I don’t know what to think of that, honestly. Katie is such a sweet girl. I can’t imagine her working for the mobs. But some of the things I know about her, well, it’s either that or she has a great sugar daddy.”

I remembered the limo from the studio.

We were quiet again. I picked up Lucifer, stood up, and set him down. Then I got an idea.

“You said you know Katie’s schedule? Would she be working now?” I asked her. 

“She’s seventeen, it’s Tuesday, and it is currently 10:46. She’s at school,” Zoey said, like it should have been the most obvious thing in the world. And really, it should have been. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“Just because I’m not in the office doesn’t mean I’m not working. Vicki is almost never at the office. I’m working on a case right now.”

“Strange hasn’t scared you off?”

“Not yet,” I said. He scared me a little, but not enough yet. There was some serious corruption going on at Arkham. The cops and Batman could handle the missing patients, but I could work the corruption angle.

“What school does she go to?” I asked.

“I already told you.”

“Gotham Academy?”

Zoey sighed. “I’m not joking. She goes to Gotham Academy.”

“No, she doesn’t,” is what immediately came out of my mouth. There was no way she went to a private school. Absolutely not. Zoey either had bad information or she was joking. Katie lived in the Narrows. There was no way she could afford to go to Gotham Academy.

“Yeah, she does. Like I said, great sugar daddy.”

No doubt.

“Zoey, I also have a huge favor to ask of you. You can absolutely say no to this request if you want to,” I paused for a moment. Zoey looked expectant. I continued. “I need to know if Jonathan knows anything. I know he said before he wouldn’t say anything, but Strange threatened me. Jonathan might talk now, but it can’t be to me since I can’t get in to see him. I’d impersonate Vicki again, but she’s not allowed to talk to him, either.”

“You want me to talk to your ex? The Scarecrow?” Zoey sounded wary. I didn’t blame her. It was an insane request to ask of a friend.

“You can say no. I just. . . I just need something, and I don’t know where to look anymore.”

I was lost. I’m pretty sure everyone knew it. 

“I’ll try. I don’t know how long I can talk to him, though,” she said.

“I owe you so much, Zoey.” And I did. I owed her more than I could ever give.

“So I’m going to an asylum to talk with a mad doctor and you’re gonna stalk a school?” she asked.

“Well, when you put it like that-”

“It’s a wonder neither of us have gotten arrested yet,” Zoey cut me off. 

Zoey was right on that point. I couldn’t deny that. We’d both done some sketchy things.

______________________________________________________________________________

Gotham Academy was a private school for the rich people. Only people with money went to this school. Bruce Wayne had gone here, and he still made donations to the school. How Katie could go here was a mystery. She obviously didn’t come from money. Her mother had apparently been a prostitute, and I had no information on her father. She lived in the Narrows and worked in a rundown studio. 

Maybe Zoey was onto something with her sugar daddy theory.

I felt like a creep standing outside a school. I was getting stares from, not parents but butlers, and I was just able to smile and wave. I wondered if parents ever picked up their own kids. At least spotting Katie would at least be easy. Even if all the uniforms were the same, Katie seemed to be the only one who had colored hair.

It appeared Katie had no friends. She walked out after almost everyone else had left. And she walked out alone. She was on her phone. She was wearing the same uniform as the other girls, but instead of the Mary Jane heels and black flats the other girls had been wearing, she wore blue sneakers. It was sort of endearing to see her like that. I wondered if she wore sneakers because she’d have to walk. There were no other cars here.

“Katie!” I called her when she put the phone in her bag. She looked up, then turned in the opposite direction, and walked away. I jogged to catch up to her. “Katie, come on! Please!”

“Ms. Connery, now is not a good time,” she said as she kept walking.

“Why were you in the asylum? You talked to Jonathan.”

She stopped and turned back sharply. “How do you know that?”

“I went there. You and I are not allowed to see him anymore. What did you two talk about?”

“Nothing. He wouldn’t talk to me, but when I told him I knew you-”

“You told him you knew me?” I cut her off. 

“Please, just let me talk. I don’t have time,” she said quickly. “I told him I knew you and that you were looking into Strange. He told me I needed to stop, and that you did, too. He said it wasn’t worth it for me or you to keep investigating this. That’s all he said, I swear.”

“When did you go?”

“It was before I talked to you in that coffee shop. Did you talk to Sam?”

“Yeah. I know about him and his jobs. But he also told me about you and your. . .” I slowly trailed off as Katie’s eyes widened. Then there was a man’s voice behind me.

“Who is this, Kate? She isn’t bothering you, is she?” he asked. Katie cringed when he called her Kate. She looked down at the ground and shuffled her feet.

“We were just talking, sir, and frankly I don’t see how it’s your business. . .” Once again, I trailed off as I turned around to face the man. 

It was Roman fucking Sionis. 

“I’m afraid it is my business. Kate is my ward. Her well-being is my business,” he said. His hands were clasped behind his back. Katie still hadn’t looked up from the ground. “Kate, is this woman bothering you?”

Katie didn’t answer, she just stared at the ground. Sionis moved toward her, took her chin, and raised her head so she was looking at his face. His thumb stroked her skin where he held her. I didn’t move, but my skin was crawling.

“Answer my question, Kate,” he demanded.

“No, Roman. Amber just had a question about my photography,” Katie muttered. This Katie I was seeing now differed greatly from the Katie I had seen before. He let her go, but not before moving a lock of blue hair behind her ear. He looked disgusted as he moved it. And then he turned to me.

Sionis looked me up or down. “Amber? Not Connery, the Scarecrow’s girlfriend?”

“Yes, Connery, but not Jonathan’s girlfriend,” I said. This man made me uneasy. Not only by the way he held himself so confidently, but the way he changed Katie. He even did when he wasn’t around. It made so much sense why she was always nervous.

“Ah, of course. I apologize, Ms. Connery. I’m afraid, though, that I must take Kate home now.” He turned to Katie. “Into the car now.”

“Yes, Roman,” she muttered. She walked to a limo. It looked similar to the one that picked her up at the studio. It might have been the same one. 

He didn’t follow her.

“Ms. Connery, stay away from my Kate. She’s mine, and as such it is my job to take care of her. She’s a very delicate girl, and she doesn’t need someone like you getting her into trouble,” Sionis said. I wasn’t able to say anything before he turned and followed Katie into the car.

Zoey needed to know about this. 

I wondered how the asylum was going for her.

______________________________________________________________________________

“Zoey!”

“Amber!

The both of us ended up showing up at my door at the same time. I quickly unlocked my door and ushered her into my apartment.

“You first, Amber,” Zoey said. “I doubt it’s as big as my story.”

“Wanna bet? Katie’s ‘sugar daddy’ is Roman Sionis.”

Zoey seemed to turn even paler than she was, if that was possible. “Black Mask?”

“Yeah, he called her his ward. I would have thought that would be public news.”

“It would have been. Unless it isn’t a real adoption and ward is just something he calls her,” Zoey said. 

“How long has she been with him?”

“Probably about three years,” Zoey said. “How could no one know about her?”

“It’s probably something best kept quiet about. Katie never mentioned it to you. I sensed something weird about them, too,” I said.

“Roman is known for his temper. She knows that. She’s probably walking on eggshells around him,” Zoey whispered to herself. It was obvious she was worried about Katie. I didn’t blame her.

“He called her Kate,” I added. “And she didn’t correct him.”

“Oh God,” Zoey moaned. She sank down onto my sofa. She knew the implication of what that meant. So did I. And it wasn’t good.

“Tell me your story,” I said softly.

“I was actually pleasantly surprised.”

That was not how I imagined her story would start.

“I wasn’t as scared as I was uncomfortable. When I said I was your friend, he seemed to calm down. All he said, though, was that he was going to talk to you in person.”

“I can’t,” I said, not liking this implication, either.

“That’s what I said. He said don’t worry about it. Then I left. I might be on the Arkham Blacklist now,” Zoey said. 

“Don’t worry about it? He’s gonna end up in my living room again, isn’t he?”

“Most likely,” Zoey agreed.

“I don’t need this.”

“No one needs anything Gotham offers. But it makes us take it, anyway. Speaking of, I need to check on Katie.”

“Yeah, go. I need to process everything.”

As if anything would ever make sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's a ton going on, and it probably seems like I'm not touching on all the characters I should be. There's so much with Zoey, Sam, and Katie to explore, and there's a reason I'm only touching on them. I'd like to turn this into a series based around civilians in Gotham. I have quite a bit of the series planned out, with even more characters that will not be introduced in this book. After this will be Sam's story.
> 
> Chapter title borrowed from Sylvia Engdahl


	15. The Beautiful and the Damned

I was lost. I really didn’t know what to do. There was nothing left for me to look into. All of my sources were hardly viable. I was done. After I was done in the office, I would head straight to Gordon to tell him I was done with this story. I couldn’t do this anymore. Paul already knew. He wasn’t upset. In fact, he looked relieved.

And yes, for the first time I was in the building for work. There had been smaller stories I was working on as well. Ones that didn’t drain me as much as the Arkham one was. The one I was finishing was about a giant bat flying through the sky. A bat that wasn’t the Batman. It was odd to be writing about a bat again.

It kind of reminded me of that doctor scientist guy I had interviewed a while back. The one who was doing some genetic stuff with bats. His name, forgotten.

“Amber, are you okay?”

I turned to find Vicki perched on the corner of my desk. “I’m alright. Why?”

“This is the first time I’ve seen you here in days. You seem out of it. Stressed. Is it the Arkham story?” she asked. She sounded concerned. And though I found her annoying sometimes, I had to admit that she could be a genuinely friendly person. She was one of my few friends.

I ran a hand down my face. “Yeah, it’s that stupid story. I’m dropping it, though. For real this time. It has taken so much out of me, and it’s gotten me into things I never wanted to be a part of.”

“If I were you, I’d want to drop that story, too. You look dead inside. And I know you’re pale, but you're an unhealthy pale now. You have been taking care of yourself, right?”

Marginally. Probably not as much as I should have been. “Sort of?”

“You’re telling Paul you’re done, right? Today?” she asked.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Good. You’re an amazing investigative journalist, but even you can’t solve everything,” Vicki said. She hopped off the desk. “Tell you what, I’m going out with Martin tonight. Why don’t you bring your boyfriend? We can have a double date!”

“A double date? Since when have you and Martin been a thing?” I asked. The idea sounded appealing. It had been ages since I had been out to just have fun.

“We’re not. Well, I doubt we will be, but he asked me out. Why not try? I want to meet your new boyfriend, too. You guys have been dating for what, a year? And I haven’t even met him.”

“It hasn’t been a year,” I muttered.

It had been a while since Edward and I had been out. I hadn’t seen him since I walked away the night I had ranted to him. It would be nice to have a night out.

“What time?” I asked.

“Is seven ok? We can meet at that Italian place on 19th Street. I’ll have them change up our reservation a bit. For being a higher end place, they’re pretty laid back, too,” Vicki offered.

“That sounds perfect,” I agreed.

“Awesome. See you then!” She waved and went off to do whatever she was meant to be doing. I sat back in the chair and smiled.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

______________________________________________________________________________

The Italian restaurant Vicki had told me and Edward to meet her at was nice. More than nice. Extravagant, really. Rossi’s was the name of it. I had never been here before. I had never been one for huge dates. This might have been one of the nicest places I had ever been to. Edward had been here. He vouched for it.

Tonight was going to be good. I was determined to have a good night. I had spoken to Gordon, and he had understood why I wanted out. There were no problems there. Edward had agreed to a date, though we still had yet to talk about what had happened the night I walked out. That was a conversation that still needed to happen.

“Were your friends going to meet us inside?” Edward asked.

“I think so.”

The inside was gorgeous. The lighting was dim, but not so dim that I couldn’t see Vicki violently waving me over. I gave Edward’s hand a light tug. His hands were so soft.

“You made it!” Vicki said. “You must be Amber’s boyfriend!”

“Edward Nigma at your service, Ms. Vale,” he said with a slight flourish. He always had a flair for dramatics.

I sat beside Vicki, while Edward went next to Martin, who quickly introduced himself to Edward. Vicki leaned over to me and whispered in my ear, “You picked a good one. You don’t want to trade, do you?”

“Not particularly,” I whispered back.

The waitress was named Cari. A polite girl about Katie’s age. Martin said she was the owner’s daughter. An older waiter had to bring out wine, but Cari came back out with food. The eggplant parmesan was the best I’d ever had. The conversation was pleasant. Edward had even dialed down his ego. It was the best night I had had in ages.

And it was almost all ruined as we were leaving.

After leaving Cari a significant tip (she was the nicest waitress I had ever met), Edward and I were about to leave. Vicki and Martin had left a little earlier. All night, I had been watching people come and go. It was a habit that I had picked up. Just as Edward and I reached the doors, Roman Sionis walked in with Katie trailing behind him. Both saw me. Sionis looked at me out of the corner of his eye, while Katie just barely shook her head. 

I left without doing or saying anything, but the sight of her with him stirred something in me. Edward definitely noticed. There wasn’t much he didn’t notice.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he ushered me out of the building. “Did you know her?”

“We’ve talked,” I admitted. “Do you know her?”

“Miss Katie VaSeer. A ward to Roman Sionis, otherwise known as Black Mask. I know of her,” he said.

“How do you know that? I was under the assumption no one knew about her and him. No one talks about it.”

“Because they’re smarter than that. Everyone who knows doesn’t talk about it. More people know than you might think.”

That… actually hurt to know. “She’s scared of him.”

“Then she’s a smart girl,” Edward said impassively.

Edward dropped me off at home, claiming he had other plans for the night. Maybe he did. Part of me thought he might have been still upset with me. If he was, I couldn’t fault him for it. I would have been upset, too.

I unlocked my apartment and the first thing I noticed was that the lights were on. The second was the smell of coffee. The third was Jonathan sitting at my table, drinking said coffee. He had a book in hand.

“Did you have a good evening, Amber?” he asked, not looking up from the pages.

“How did you get in here?”

“Your lovely friend Zoey let me in before she left.”

“She just let you in?”

“She did. Zoey is quite the interesting person. You have an odd taste in friends,” he said. He turned the page in his book.

“Did you threaten her?” I asked, seriously doubting that Zoey would just let him in.

“Only a little.”

That did not make me feel better.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“Sit down, Amber.”

“I’ll stand.”

“Sit down,” he said, firmer than before. He was getting annoyed. I sat down on the opposite end. “I ask again, did you have a good evening?”

“Before I came back, I was having one.”

“Oh? Care to tell me about it?” This time he raised a mug to his lips. It was one that had belonged to him. I never threw it out.

“Why are you here?” I said, making my voice as firm as I could.

“Are you still working on the story?” he asked. That was what I had been waiting for him to say.

“No, I’m not. I gave up on it today. Happy?”

He finally looked up, setting down the book and the mug. He folded his hands. His eyes were on me. I had his complete and utter attention. “I must admit, I hadn’t been expecting you to give it up at all. You know I have to ask why.”

“There’s too much that I was getting caught in,” I said. My voice only cracked a little.

“What happened to warrant such an emotional response?”

I hadn’t thought my response had been emotional at all. A small voice crack was all. But then, Jonathan had been an amazing psychologist. And he had always been able to read me. I could hide nothing from him.

“Just… things.” I didn’t want to talk to him about this.

Jonathan stood up. I followed suit, but didn’t move as he walked toward me. His hands grasped my upper arms, yet I didn’t feel threatened. He lowered his head to my ear.

“Tell me. It’s weighing on you.”

Before I realized what I was doing, I was pouring out everything that had happened since I started working on the story. The corpses, Sam, Edward, Strange, Katie. I hadn’t even realized we moved to the sofa and were sitting far too close to one another.

“You’ve met Miss VaSeer?” he asked. His long fingers were threading through my hair. I’d forgotten how nice it had felt.

“How can a girl like her be with a man like Sionis? How does anyone allow it?”

“Mr. Sionis is a powerful man. People fear him. No one will stand against him. And the right people don’t know about their relationship,” Jonathan said. His fingers paused.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered. His fingers resumed. “Why did she come to see you?”

“The same reason as you. Why she ever thought of coming to me is a question I have yet to answer. If there was anyone in this city who knows too much, it is that poor girl.”

Hearing someone else besides Zoey and myself think Katie was stuck in something bad was a blessing. Especially coming from someone like Jonathan.

“Do you think he’s abusing her?” I asked, already fearing his answer would be the same as mine.

“Without a doubt.”

With that, I started sobbing. Everything that had been building up inside me for the past couple of months was finally coming out. Jonathan didn’t say anything. He kept stroking my hair. It felt so nice, even though I knew this was wrong. 

“I hate this city,” I said through sobs. “I hate it so much.”

Jonathan pressed me closer to him. I hated it. I loved it. I wanted to be closer. I needed the comfort.

This couldn’t be cheating. It couldn’t. It was one person comforting another. I wasn’t cheating on Edward. 

Jonathan smelled like chemicals and coffee. The scent burned, yet I couldn’t hate it. It was so distinctly him. He looked a little older than I had last seen him. We were the same age, but he looked years older than me. His hands weren’t like Edward’s. He wasn’t much like Edward at all. Edward was the one who would hold me as close as he possibly could. Jonathan would hold me, but it would still feel like I was at arm’s length.

But I’d be damned if I didn’t miss this. I wasn’t thinking about the consequences.

I especially wasn’t thinking about them when I pulled his head down to kiss him. Or when I dragged him to my bedroom. 

I barely thought about Edward. His name flashed across my mind briefly, when I thought about the guilt I would have in the morning. I knew I would hate myself.

Jonathan’s hands on my skin brought me back to the present and to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title borrowed from F. Scott Fitzgerald


	16. This Is Where I Leave You

When I woke up, Jonathan wasn’t in bed with me. I hadn’t expected him to stay; that would have been asking too much. I wasn’t even sure I wanted him to stay.

I fucked up so badly. Edward was going to hate me when I told him. I had to tell him. And even though it would hurt, I had to break up with him. There was no way I could be with him when I had been with Jonathan. I wouldn’t be fair to him. Of course, I wouldn’t be telling Edward I cheated on him with a criminal.

Cheated. I hated myself so much. How could I have done something so stupid? I’ve never been the person to do something like what I had. Why had I done that?

I worked from home. There was no part of me that wanted to go outside yet. Rarely did I see Edward outside when we weren’t meeting, but seeing him already wasn’t a chance I wanted to take. I needed time to tell him, because I would be telling him. I had to; I owed him that. He had been so good to me, and I ruined it because of a stupid infatuation with a man that cared more about his experiments than me.

The need to talk to someone consumed me, even though there was no one that I could talk to. Not really. Sam was out of the question, and so was Edward for now. Zoey didn’t need to be burdened with any more of my issues. Vicki, well, that would probably end up in a disaster if I was being honest with myself. 

I pushed papers to the other end of the table and put my head down. Why was everything so bad? So wrong? One slip of paper didn’t make it to the other end of the table. I played with it with my fingers before lifting my head to look at it. It was a phone number. One I never used. It was a phone number I never thought about calling. It was my father’s.

I didn’t even know if it was still his. It had been, what, about fifteen years since I’d seen him, much less talked to him. He’d most likely gotten a new one by now. It had been ages. There was no way this number was his. To be honest, I didn’t even know why I had it. I wanted no contact with him at all. It had taken me ages for me to realize what he did to me was abusive, even if it wasn’t all the time. 

That was why I was mentally slapping myself as I dialed his phone number. I waited, part of me hoping he had changed his number or he had moved away and gotten a new one. It rang four times. Then I heard his voice.

“Hello? Terrence Connery speaking.”

I hadn’t heard this voice in years. My throat tightened.

“Hello? If this is a prank I-”

“Hi, Dad.” There were a few moments of silence.

“Amber? I-is that really you?” he asked.

I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. How have you been?”

“I’ve been well. And you?”

“I’ve been okay.”

It was probably one of the most awkward conversations I had ever taken part in. But I suppose that was a given, since it had been years since we last spoke.

“I’m surprised you kept this number,” he said.

“Yeah, me too.”

It was quiet again for a couple minutes.

“Did you need something? I know it’s been… a while, and we didn’t exactly end on good terms, but I’m always willing to talk.”

“That’s good because I-uh, I need to talk to you about something.”

It took a good hour or so for me to tell him about everything that had happened in the years I had been in Gotham. I told him everything about Jonathan, Edward, Zoey, Sam, and Katie. I told him everything about the stories I had worked on. I told him everything that had happened in the past day. He said nothing as I talked. He listened. The only thing that made me acknowledge that he was still there was his breathing.

When I stopped talking, he didn’t answer immediately. I was glad for that. That meant he was at least thinking about what I had said. That was good. At least, I thought it was.

“That’s… quite a story,” he said.

“What do you think I should do?”

“About which part?”

“Everything.”

He sighed on the other end. “To start, you need to tell Mr. Nigma what you did. Don’t lie to him, Amber. The story was the same with your mother. The difference was she left without warning. Don’t do that to this man.”

“I wasn’t going to. I didn’t know when I should tell him,” I said.

“As soon as you can.”

I was worried he would say that. I was so scared of approaching him. How are you supposed to go up to someone you care about and admit you cheated on them? How do you do that? 

“I suppose these are my thoughts on everything else. There’s nothing you can do about Sam and Katie. They have their own lives to worry about and you have yours. You can’t help everyone. Zoey sounds like a good friend, and I’m glad you’ve found her. The stories you’ve been doing, well, I can’t imagine why you even… I don’t know why you moved to Gotham City of all places,” he ranted. He sounded frustrated toward the end of his rant. And to be fair, I couldn’t blame him. How many nights did we spend watching the news together and commenting about Gotham? 

“I don’t really know, either. I hate it here.”

“Then leave,” he said. He made it sound so easy. If only he knew how hard it actually was. Gotham tied you down. I felt like I couldn’t just leave. I wish it was as easy as he made it sound.

“Thank you for listening to me,” I whispered. For a moment, I didn’t even think he heard me.

“I’ll always listen to you. I know I fucked up in the past, but I wish you would call more. I can’t begin to tell you how much it’s killed me to not even hear you talk to me, Amber. You’re still my little girl,” he said. It might have been the most sincere thing I’d ever heard him say to me. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe him so much.

“Maybe we can talk later.”

“I’d like that.”

“Thank you again for listening. I have to go now. There’s something I have to do,” I said. It would be better if I talked to Edward sooner than later. 

“I hope to talk to you again,” he said. He sounded hopeful, which is why part of me felt bad when I told myself I had no intention of calling him again. I still wasn’t sure if I could forgive him for what he did. If I even could.

I rehearsed what I was going to say to Edward in my head as I drove to his home. I hadn’t called him beforehand, so I was hoping he would be there. Not one part of me wanted to wait anymore. The guilt was eating me up inside.

Before I knocked on his door, I breathed in and out deeply. Then I knocked and waited to see if he would answer. My heart was thumping hard in my chest. I knocked again. That time, I heard him moving around inside. I debated whether it was too late to leave.

He opened the door and looked surprised to see me. “Well, I can’t say I was expecting you, Amber. What can I do for you?”

I looked over his body. He was without a tie, with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows. There was grease or something on his hands. It was unfair that he looked good while looking disheveled. No, no. That’s not what I was meant to be thinking about.

“We need to talk.” He seemed surprised by the serious tone of my voice, but opened the door wider to let me in. I crossed my arms and stared at the floor. 

“What is it? Did something happen?”

I didn’t answer. I don’t know why I didn’t answer. The answer was yes. It was a yes, and I knew it was a yes. Why was this so damn hard?

“Amber?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Something happened.”

“What happened?”

“We need to break up.”

Fuck, I didn’t mean to say that like that. I didn’t mean to be so blunt about it. I glanced up. Edward stared at me, looking surprised. I looked down again. Fuck, I messed up again. What was wrong with me?

“Do you want to sit down?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think I should,” I said.

“Why do you think we need to break up?” he asked.

“It wasn’t anything you did, I promise. It-it’s all me. I messed up, Edward. I messed up bad.”

“You haven’t done any-”

“I cheated on you, okay? I fucked up, and I couldn't live with myself if I didn’t tell you. But now I don’t feel any better now that I’ve told you. I feel so much worse. And I can’t even say I’m sorry because I know it means nothing. I can’t fix what I did,” I blurted. I didn’t even think about what to say. It for sure wasn’t anything that I rehearsed in the car. 

Edward said nothing. He stood in his spot, fidgeting with his hands, and I walked out the door. I was fine driving home. I was fine going back inside the apartment. 

It wasn’t until I sat down on my bed that I started sobbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amber still has a lot to deal with. The fallout of everything that has happened so far in this story will not be pretty. Amber will come out alright, though. I'm too attached to her now. 
> 
> Have I mentioned this? Amber has Southern accent. I just cannot write accents without it looking ridiculous. But yes, Amber does have a Southern accent. Just thought I would point that out, if I haven't already
> 
> Chapter title borrowed from Jonathan Tropper


	17. What We Keep Is Not Always What Will Stay

I think everyone could tell that something was wrong with me. Zoey asked what was wrong, but I didn’t answer. Though based on the looks she gave me, I think she might have known. Vicki kept coming over to talk to me and dropping hints that she wanted to know what was up. Even Paul asked if something was wrong. I told them all the same thing: I was a little stressed about everything that had been going on. That technically wasn’t a lie. I was stressed about everything. Edward had tried calling me, and I never answered. I was scared he was going to try coming to my apartment. What could I do if he was waiting outside my door? And Jonathan had yet to be caught. I was worried he was just going to show up inside my apartment again. I was more worried about him approaching Zoey again. I didn’t want her getting caught up in my life’s problems. Hell, I didn’t want to be a part of my own problems anymore.

I was sitting in a park, one of the nicer parks in Gotham. The same one I used to come to with Sam. This had been our place. I missed him so much.

Someone sat on the bench beside me. I moved over to make more room for the other person. They were sitting stiffly.

“I heard you’re done with the Arkham story.”

I turned to face the man. Bruce Wayne was not someone I expected to be sitting next to in a park. He did not look like he belonged in a public park. He seemed like he was far too uncomfortable.

“Should I be concerned that you’ve somehow managed to find me here?” I asked, hoping he realized I was teasing, though I wasn’t able to put any heart behind the joke.

“I was passing through, and saw you sitting here. I thought I would say hello and ask about what happened,” he said. He crossed his arms, and I leaned an elbow against the arm of the bench.

“It was so much worse than I thought. Then I lost all the information I had and getting it all back didn’t go well. I was getting in way too deep. It’s so, so bad. That story took a toll on me. I had to stop for my own good,” I explained. “I tried, I really did. I just couldn’t do it.”

“That’s understandable,” Bruce agreed. “Based on the little I’ve heard, it’s a horror story. Speaking of, did you ever speak with Dr. Crane?”

I froze for a moment, then remembered that he had asked me to talk to him. There was no way Bruce Wayne could know anything about Jonathan and I. Bruce Wayne barely even knew who I was, outside of being a journalist.

“Yeah, I did. He didn’t tell me anything,” I said.

“Hm,” he hummed. “I went to Arkham recently. To see Harvey Dent.”

They had been best friends before the incident with Salvatore Maroni. That was an unfortunate situation. Harvey Dent had been a good man before the incident. It was a shame what happened to him.

“I asked him about what was happening at Arkham. He had nothing to tell me, either. Maybe he knows, though. He hasn’t exactly been forthcoming about anything since what happened,” Bruce explained.

“You two used to be best friends.”

Bruce laughed wistfully. “Funny how things change, isn’t it?”

I rested my chin on a fist. “I don’t know if I’d say funny, but yeah.”

Bruce chuckled and stood. “Have a good afternoon, Amber. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“It wasn’t a problem at all, Mr. Wayne.”

“I thought I told you to call me Bruce,” he said, giving me a playful wink. I rolled my eyes.

“Whatever, then, Bruce.”

He laughed as he walked away from the bench.

I didn’t stay much longer after Bruce left. It started raining. The rain didn’t bother me. I didn’t mind getting wet. My building wasn’t far, anyway.

Horns were blaring, and in between the horns I could have sworn I heard a gunshot. My hands shook inside the pockets of my coat. And I thought I had been getting so much better at controlling my stupid fear. Apparently not.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Couldn’t even walk across the street without getting scared.

I jumped when I heard a blast of thunder from the sky. It was fine. I was almost home. What I was going to do when I got there, I hadn’t decided. Coffee sounded nice. Very nice.

When I opened the door to my apartment, I didn’t expect to find people already sitting at the table with coffee. Well, Zoey had a Coke. Jonathan had coffee. I couldn’t tell if Zoey was uncomfortable with whatever Jonathan was telling her. Both turned to look at me as I stood in the doorway.

“Ah, come in, Amber. I was just telling Ms. Brooks about a few experiments I have been conducting lately,” Jonathan said.

“Have you?” I asked, gently shutting the door behind me. There was no reason for another neighbor to come ask why I was slamming doors. It was a rather inopportune time to do so. Zoey glanced at me, cocked an eyebrow, and gestured toward Jonathan with her head. “Do you mind if I steal Zoey for a minute?”

“By all means,” he said, as if he hadn’t made Zoey open my apartment for him. As if he wasn’t sitting here, talking to her about experiments. As if he actually had a place in my life that was normal. Nothing about this was normal.

Zoey followed me into my room, and I shut the door behind us. She was dressed for work.

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“Gee, Amber, I’m great. I’m doing wonderful since your boyfriend had me open your apartment again,” she sassed. She folded her arms across her chest. “Is he the reason you’ve been acting so strange?”

I nodded, too afraid to voice anything. If I talked, it would no doubt give away something. 

“I mean, you act so skittish lately since the first time I let him in, and then you break up with Edward…” she trailed off. Then her eyes widened. “Did you cheat on him with Crane?”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Didn’t mean to? How do you not mean to sleep with someone while you’re dating someone else?” Zoey asked. She was keeping her voice quiet, which I was thankful for. Jonathan didn’t need to hear.

“Look, I fucked up. I know. Can we drop it? I messed up, bad. I told Edward about it. It’s over.”

“Girl, you have major problems,” Zoey sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I won’t judge you. I mean, the slut can’t judge, can she?”

“You’re not-”

“I am, and it’s fine. I have to get going, though. I would get your head on straight before you talk to Crane, though. He seems like he’s had a rough day,” Zoey said, opening the door.

“I’m sure that being a criminal will do that,” I muttered to myself. I heard Zoey say goodbye to Jonathan before she left. Somehow she could still be polite, referring to him as Dr. Crane. I heard the front door open, then close again.

I rubbed my temples, then went back out into the kitchen where Jonathan was pouring coffee into two mugs. He put cream and sugar into one.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said, mixing the one mug with the cream and sugar.

“I haven’t even said anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

I sat at the table, and Jonathan followed soon after with two mugs in his hands. I held the mug he offered me in my hands. My fingertips tapped on the ceramic. What did he want me to say? Did he want me to tell him that he was the reason I was miserable? Is that really what he wanted to hear?

“Tell me anything then, if not what’s wrong,” he offered.

What could I tell him? I mean, there was a lot I could say. I could say I was scared that one day Zoey might not come home or that Sam might decide he hates me and kill me. I could say I worried about Katie, a girl I barely knew. Or I could straight up say that he was the reason my relationship with Edward was broken. None of those seemed like things that I should say, though.

“Why are you even here?” I asked, after a few minutes of silence.

“I worry about you,” he said. “And I miss you.”

Those were words I hadn’t wanted to hear.

“No you don’t,” I spat, suddenly angry. “When you got arrested, I tried to get you to talk to me. I tried to get you to admit to anything. You were manipulating me, and you,” I paused. “You abused me.”

“I never laid a hand on you,” Jonathan argued in his bitter tone. 

“You might have never hit me, but you sure as hell were manipulative and have you forgotten that you used your fear toxin on me! You were a psychiatrist, Jonathan! You should realize this!” Jonathan may have been good at keeping his voice down, but I wasn’t.

“I didn’t know-”

“You didn’t know I was there, and you know what, I don’t care! You never should have used it in the first place! That’s abusive, Jonathan!” There was no way my other neighbors weren’t hearing me. “You’re-you’re no better than your grandmother!”

Silence. Jonathan’s icy eyes turned dark. My blood ran cold. 

“Jonathan, I didn’t-” I tried to apologize. I knew that was a low blow. His grandmother had been awful to him. More than awful. 

He stood from his spot. “I am not like her, and you should be thankful for that. If you ever imply that I am like her again…”

Jonathan threatened me. Actually threatened me. I squirmed under his darkened glare. He left my apartment with a slam of the door. Why had I said that? Why did I compare him to her?

Because I was angry. Because it was something I had wanted to say for a long time. And because part of me, deep down, thought it was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title borrowed from Amanda Cockrell


	18. Leave Her to Heaven

Zoey Brooks was dead.

That was what I knew as I, her other friends she had, and her family stood around an open grave as a coffin was lowered into the ground. She was dead. There was no other way of saying it. Zoey would never come back to the building. We would never have another conversation. That fact hurt so much considering the last conversation we had had not been the best one we had shared.

It hurt so much seeing my best friend lowered into the ground.

It had been the day after Jonathan had stormed out of my apartment. It was the afternoon when someone knocked on my door. I had still been in bed, wallowing in shame and pity for myself. It wasn’t something that I did. I hated doing it. When I heard the knock, I had made myself get out of bed and open the door. A cop by the name of Quinn O’Malley was not who I had been expecting. In fact, I had been expecting Zoey. I had been expecting Zoey, and what I had gotten was a police officer telling me that Zoey Brooks had been found dead in an alley that morning. He told me that Zoey’s coworkers had called in and mentioned me by name. When he said coworkers, I knew he meant other prostitutes. He tried to offer his condolences, and to say they were looking into it.

I made him leave. They would never look into it. I knew how the cops in this city were, even if they were better under Gordon’s leadership. They wouldn’t waste their time looking for someone who had murdered a prostitute. I knew what Zoey would say if she were in my shoes. 

“They have better things to do than find Jack the Ripper,” she would have said.

The funeral was the first time I had ever met Zoey’s family. I knew she had an older sister named Theresa. Her parents' names were Olivia and Thomas. She had told me they hadn’t been close, that they hated her. But looking at them, I think that had been in her head. Her mother was sobbing and her father looked like he was about to break down. Her sister was stone-faced, but even I could tell that was just a front.

The others that were present must have been others from Zoey’s line of work. There were two blondes, a red-head, and a brunette. All of them were sobbing.

After the priest had finished speaking, he spoke to Zoey’s family quietly. The other girls left, all of them continuing to cry. I wondered if they felt they hadn’t belonged at the service. I had felt out of place. This was only the second funeral I had ever been to. The first had been for Jonathan’s grandmother. It had felt different.

Someone tapped my shoulder. Theresa Brooks stood behind me.

“You were a friend of Zoey’s?” she asked. Her voice was firm, but I could hear the slight shake in it.

“I was,” I said quietly. “She was my best friend.”

“She was a good person?” she asked.

“She was,” I agreed. “A great one.”

“When she dropped out of college, we-” her voice cracked. “None of us tried talking to her. I hadn’t even known; I was away. And my parents… they were so angry with her for throwing her life away. She thought we hated her.”

Theresa stopped talking to take a deep breath. She was consoling herself; trying to keep herself from crying. “I should have talked to her. I should have tried, but I thought she was fine. I thought-”

She stopped and wiped her eyes. I had seen the tears. She sniffed and breathed out. “I’m glad she had you, though. She kept a journal, and she wrote about you a lot. She made you sound like such an amazing friend, and I thank you for that. You were there when her family wasn’t. When we should have been-”

She didn’t wipe her eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her lip trembled. Her breath was staggered. “I should have tried,” she breathed. 

“She loved you,” I offered. My voice was uneven. My throat hurt from trying not to cry. “She was such a wonderful person, and I don’t know what I would have done without her for the short time I’ve known her. I don’t know what I did before her.”

“Oh,” she said softly. She put a hand in her purse. “This is for you. I thought you might want something.”

It was a picture of Zoey and I. It had been taken about two weeks after we met and had gone out together for the first time. She was decked out in black like she always was, and I was wearing a business casual outfit. We looked like quite a pair; a goth and a journalist.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Theresa tried to smile, but it wouldn’t stay on her face. She opened her mouth, but then closed it again. Then she tried to smile again. I understood what she meant. She was trying to say thank you. She walked back to her parents. Olivia Brooks didn't see me. She was lying her head on her husband’s shoulder, crying into it. Thomas Brooks offered me a curt nod, smile tight-lipped. 

I left the cemetery not long after my conversation with Theresa ended.

But I didn’t go home. I didn’t want to go home. Next to me would be an empty apartment. Theresa and her parents had already gone through Zoey’s belongings. Theresa had taken Lucifer and Shadow. At least they had a home. It made me feel better knowing that they were with Theresa rather than in an animal center somewhere.

No. As crazy as it sounded, I went to a church. It was the church we had held the service in. It was a nice church. I sat in a pew and stared up at the altar. Above the altar was a cross with the figure of Jesus Christ nailed to it.

People used to tell me that being in a church calmed them. It wasn’t calming me. Not at all.

“You were at the service for Ms. Brooks.”

I recognized the priest’s voice. “Yeah, I was.”

“Would you care to talk?”

“I’m an atheist.”

The priest sat beside me. “I didn’t ask if you believed in God. I asked if you wanted to talk,” he said gently.

“Talk about what?” I asked. “My best friend is dead. Nothing can change that.”

“No,” the priest agreed. “But she is in the hands of the Lord now.”

“She didn’t even know if she believed in God. I know that I don’t. Does that make a difference?”

“What do you mean?” he asked calmly.

“Let’s just say that Heaven and Hell were real. Wouldn’t she go to Hell? You know what she did, right?”

“I was informed of what Ms. Brooks did, yes. But, from what I have heard, she was also a kind woman. What she did does not define who she is. God has seen that.”

I didn’t believe the man, but it helped to hear that he thought she wasn’t an evil person. Because she wasn’t. Zoey was an amazing person.

“You are not the only one who has voiced concerns,” the priest continued. He nodded his head toward a pew in the back. “It may do you well to speak with the girl in the back. She is struggling to accept what has happened.”

This priest wasn’t like the ones in Arlen. He wasn’t condemning me for not believing in God. He wasn’t accusing me of being a witch. This was a friendly man. If I didn’t look at him, I could pretend he wasn’t a priest.

I nodded. “Thank you, Father,” I muttered.

He laid a hand on my shoulder. “Whether you believe in God does not matter. I will always be here to lend a listening ear.”

I sat in the pew alone for a while. I could hear the girl the priest had mentioned crying in the back.

I walked to the back and sat next to her. She had blonde hair. With blue streaks. Oh my God, I had forgotten that Katie had known Zoey. I laid a hand on her back. She trembled under my touch.

“Katie?” I whispered. Her head raised slowly. Her eyes were red and puffy. Mascara stained her cheeks. She had been crying for a long time.

“Ms. Connery? What are you doing here?” she asked. She hiccupped.

“To be honest, I don’t know.”

“Zoey’s dead.”

“I know. I was at the funeral,” I said.

“I wanted to go.” I could barely understand her. “But-but Roman would have known. He thinks I’m working right now.”

Sionis wouldn’t have even let her go to a funeral?

“He doesn’t let you come to church?”

“Only on Sunday mornings.” She laughed bitterly. “After this I have to take pictures of random buildings. That’s what I told him I was doing. He checks my camera or portfolio to make sure I’m telling him the truth.”

That was terrible. That was not the way a seventeen-year-old should have been living. She shouldn’t have had to lie about where she was going. Especially to a man that wasn’t even her father or of any relation to her. That, to me, seemed far worse.

“And I’m going to have to clean up, or he’ll know,” she said, motioning to her face. 

“What would he do if he found out?” I asked.

She laughed again. “I don’t even know.”

“Katie-”

“But it’s fine. I’ve lived with him for years, I know how he gets. I’ll be okay,” she tried to assure me. It didn’t work. She started crying hard again. “I’m going to miss Zoey so much.”

She launched herself onto me. I had no experience with crying teenagers. I didn’t know what to do with her. So I let her cry. There would be makeup on my top, but I didn’t care. I stroked her head.

We sat there like that for a long time.

Finally, she picked her head up. She took in a breath, and it came out shaky. She tried to smile, but it wasn’t there. I wondered if all of her crying was just about Zoey or if it was about Sionis, too.

“Thanks, Amber,” Katie said softly. “But I need to go or Roman will get mad.”

She tried to smile again, but like the first attempt, it didn’t work. I watched her walk out the doors of the church. I hoped I would see her again.

There was no Jonathan in my apartment when I got home. That was perfectly fine with me. I didn’t want to see him. Most likely, I wouldn’t be seeing him for a long time. That was okay with me.

Just as I sat down, there was a knock on my door. I didn’t want to answer. I wanted to be left alone. The person knocked again. Sighing, I stood and went to look through the peephole. Sam stood outside the door.

I ignored him.

He knocked again.

I ignored him again.

“Amber, I know you’re in there. I heard you go in. I know you-” he paused. “I know you hate me. But I was Zoey’s friend, too. This is going to be hard on both of us. I want to talk, please. Just please open the door.”

I didn’t move. 

“If you don’t open the door in five seconds, I’ll leave you alone, and I won’t bother you again. But I-” He stopped. Then he started counting out loud. I knew the tactic. He thought counting aloud would make me change my mind.

“Five.”

I stayed in my spot by the door, not moving.

“Four.”

Nothing.

“Three.”

My hand inched toward the knob.

“Two.”

My hand rested on the knob, but I didn’t turn it.

“One.”

I took my hand away. Then I looked through the hole again. Sam waited for another few seconds. He raised his hand, seemingly to knock again, but then must have thought better than that. He went back into his own apartment.

I rested my head against the door. I started crying. They were loud, ugly sobs. I’m sure the neighbors could hear. I didn’t care.

I would never see Zoey Brooks again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Zoey.
> 
> Chapter title borrowed from Ben Ames Williams (and Shakespeare technically).


	19. The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Dealing with the fact that Zoey was gone had been hard. That had been in the beginning of July. It was the end of July when even more went wrong. So much more had gone wrong, and I was not prepared to deal with any of it. Not when Zoey’s death still haunted me.

I stared at the TV as the news story played.

Jonathan had been caught again. But Edward had been arrested along with him. 

Jonathan had somehow made his toxin even worse. It… I had to mute the TV. The people were too loud. I suppose I hadn’t been surprised by what Jonathan had done; in fact, I was expecting it. Every time he broke out, I had been expecting him to disperse something. What I hadn’t expected was Edward’s involvement in the scheme. I hadn’t even thought they had known each other. Why would they have known each other?

Edward placed people in some kind of puzzle room. If they failed, they were faced with Jonathan’s toxin. It was something out of a  _ Saw  _ movie. Horrifying. Something I would never wish on my worst enemy. 

It was a repeat of what had happened with Jonathan. Only this time, I couldn’t have even imagined Edward doing something like this. I had always suspected Jonathan of doing shady things. Bo, Sherry, and his grandmother had not been happy accidents. But Edward, I couldn’t imagine why. What was his motive? He had a good life. He had gotten past the abuse he suffered at the hands of his father, and become, from what I heard, a very successful private detective. No one would have guessed this is something he would have done.

… Katie had known. She had known something about Edward, at least. She had dropped hints to me she had known something about Edward. And she had gone to visit Jonathan at some point. Had Jonathan told her about this scheme? No, no, he wouldn’t have done that. Jonathan wasn’t stupid. How had Katie known? How did she know anything?

“He told me, too,” I muttered to myself as I watched the story. Edward had told me the night I rejected him he was part of something. Edward had told me he had nothing to do with  _ Strange’s  _ scheme. He had emphasized that, and I had thought nothing of it at the time. Nothing. It didn’t seem to be out of place. But it had. Edward had indirectly told me he would be part of something. And I had missed it. How could I have missed it?

The sound was muted, but it was clear that the arrest had angered Edward immensely. His lips were moving quickly, and his face had reddened. Jonathan looked impassive as ever. The contrast between the two was incredible. Just from the way they appeared after the arrest gave clear indications to the type of people they were. Edward was dramatic. Most likely he was flaunting some obscure knowledge. Jonathan was cool, straight-faced. He was biding his time, but for what was anyone’s guess.

I turned off the TV and leaned against the back of the couch. I didn’t want to think anymore. Not about anything. I’d had enough of everything. Nothing was going right anymore. And I felt utterly, utterly alone.

My phone rang. I let it go to voicemail. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I wanted to be alone.

It rang again. Again, I let it go to voicemail.

It rang again. This time, I stared at it for a few seconds before picking it up. “Hello?”

“Amber? Hey, it’s Vicki.”

“Vicki? What’s up? You never call,” I said, trying to mask the sound of resignation in my tone.

“I just wanted to check up on you. Are you busy?” she asked. It was quiet in the background. She wasn’t at the office.

“No, I’m not.”

“Meet me at that café you like in half an hour,” she said. Then she hung up.

I didn’t move for a few minutes. Then I made myself get up and get ready to meet with Vicki.

______________________________________________________________________________

“How are you doing?” she asked. She had a cup of coffee in her hands, a little cream, and a muffin on the side. I think it was blueberry. As always, my coffee had too much cream and sugar.

“Okay, I guess,” I said. I stirred my drink with a stirrer. There wasn’t a need to, but I didn’t want to look at Vicki. I didn’t know why.

“You know, it’s okay if you’re not. You’ve had a lot of stuff happen to you in a short period of time,” she said. “I’m sorry about your friend, by the way. It-it’s awful what happened to her. Paul’s going to print a story about it. I wasn’t sure if you’d heard about that.”

I hadn’t known about that. It was a good thing, I suppose. Some awareness of her death and the circumstance had been what I wanted for her. Other people who had been in Zoey’s line of work deserved to know, to be aware of the danger out there. No one even knew who killed her.

“Amber?” Vicki said gently. I hadn’t realized I’d been quiet for so long.

“You’re right,” I mumbled. “I’m not okay. I’m not okay, and I don’t know if I’m going to be alright for a while.”

Vicki picked at the muffin. “You’re a nice person. Everything that’s happened in the past couple years you don’t deserve. You should get the chance to be happy. I was hoping you and Edward would have worked out.”

That’s right. She didn’t know the circumstances of the breakup. Jonathan knew. I wondered why he still worked with Edward.

I propped my elbows on the table and leaned against fists. “You know, I don’t even think we would have ended up together. I mean, I did like him. I… I just don’t think we were compatible in that way.”

“And Crane and you were?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. Vicki popped a part of the muffin in her mouth. Then she pushed it over to me. 

“Take part of it,” she said. I did. “You know, I agree with you. While you and Edward were a good couple, you and Crane seemed like a power couple.”

That made me laugh. “What do you mean?”

She smiled. “I mean, you are probably one of the best investigative journalists I’ve ever met, and I’ve heard Crane is basically this generation’s Sigmund Freud. I don’t know, you two just fit well together.”

Jonathan hated Sigmund Freud. He would have been so offended to have been compared to him. Vicki had no way of knowing that, of course. I couldn’t help but laugh as I pictured the look of disdain Jonathan would have had on his face.

“Maybe you should go talk to him,” she suggested. I realized I had never told her about the asylum.

“You haven’t been there recently, have you?”

“No, why?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. She broke off another piece of muffin.

“You and I aren’t allowed to see him. I’m not allowed to see pretty much anyone. My guess is you’re not either,” I explained. She stared at me.

“Well, that’s stupid,” she said after a big pause.

I laughed. It really was. The move by Strange seemed so petty. Vicki and I were two small women who worked for a newspaper. I mean, most people thought we were making the stuff we wrote up. I wasn’t that creative, and I don’t think Vicki was either.

“Part of me wishes that you hadn’t given up the story about Strange,” she said. “Everyone hates him.”

“I wish I could have kept going.”

“But I get why you couldn’t. I saw what it did to you,” she continued. “I would have given up, too.”

We were quiet for a long time after that. Vicki alternated between drinking her coffee and eating the muffin. I didn’t touch my coffee. It tasted awful on my tongue, but I knew that wasn’t any fault of the barista’s.

“Do you think this city will ever be normal?” I asked after a long silence. Vicki laughed.

“You're assuming it ever was, quote unquote, normal. No, I don't think this city will be what anyone calls normal. Gotham's too far gone for that,” Vicki said.

“Sometimes it just feels like even existing in this city is too much. Do you ever feel like that?” I asked her. It was a deep question, one that most people wouldn't answer. But I knew mine. Existing in this city was hard. It was exhausting. And sometimes all it did was hurt.

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” she said. “But we wouldn't be here if we couldn't handle it, right? If you want a test of will, Gotham's it. And you've got a strong one, Amber. Don't let another person change that.”

We were quiet for another moment before she continued. "It's happened to too many people here, already."

The conversation got a lot lighter from there. It was nice to just talk to someone again. Vicki and I had never been close, but that was because I was determined to not like her, even though I didn't know why I felt like that. Vicki was a good person, and she was easier to talk to than I had thought. I decided we would have to hang out more than we had been.

When I went back to my apartment, I didn't feel as empty as I had felt. I didn't feel as alone as before. The talk with Vicki had been what I had needed. 

Maybe things wouldn't always be perfect, but then, they didn't have to be. Life would be boring if it was. And I wasn't alone. 

I wasn't alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter! I know that this book might feel shorter than the first, and not everything has been resolved, but sometimes that's how it is. That's how life is. Not everything gets fixed. Amber realizes this.
> 
> But fear not! This will not be the last we see of our wonderful protagonist Amber Connery! Throughout this series, she will be the biggest recurring character.
> 
> Chapter title borrowed from Milan Kundera


	20. The Sense of an Ending

A week into August, and life was, well, life. The coffee shop had become my second home, even when I was alone. That was where I was sitting, quietly typing away at my laptop, when Katie sat down in front of me.

“I thought Sionis told you not to talk to me…” my voice got quiet as I looked at her face. A dark ring of black surrounded her eye. “Katie, did Sionis-?”

“No, he didn't do this. He's never hit me." I noticed she was quick to defend the man. "No, your former friend Sam did this, but that's not why I sat down here.”

Sam hit her? That didn't sound like him. He had never struck me as the violent type.

“Why are you here then?”

“It's-it actually had to do with Zoey.”

“What?”

“Well, not her. Kind of. The cop who told you about her, his name was Quinn O'Malley, right?” she asked. How had she known that? 

I needed to stop asking that question when it came to this girl. She knew everything.

“Yeah. Why?”

She shifted in her seat. “He's my two friends', former friends', stepdad. We… broke things off a while ago, but they both approached me to give me their condolences. They told me their dad had visited you,” Katie explained.

“That's good." I had no idea how to respond to that. Did she expect me to ask about why they had broken things off?

“We're still not friends again, not that I wanted or expected to be, but it still felt nice, you know?” she asked. Then, in a quieter voice, she added, “I miss them both.”

“Talk to them again,” I offered. Whatever had happened between them, I was sure it could have been fixed by talking. Communication was important. 

“I can't. I'm… not allowed to have friends,” she mumbled. Then she perked up. “Not that I would ever want to be friends with them again.”

Sionis didn't allow her to have friends? What else did this man restrict Katie from? What else did he do to her?

“Is… that all you wanted to tell me, Katie?” I asked cautiously. I didn't want to be rude to her, but I didn't know what else to say to her. She shrugged. “Does Sionis know you're here?”

“No. Probably not.”

That was not reassuring to hear. Sionis had explicitly told me to keep away from her, and that was not what I was doing. If he had her followed, I was screwed. And I was scared of Sionis. I'd heard the stories about the man.

“I wanted to talk to you, though. I came for coffee, saw you and wanted to talk to you. I have no one else to talk to. Roman isn't great for these talks. I feel alone,” Katie explained. That I understood. The feeling of isolation and loneliness was a feeling that was not about to forget anytime soon. And she was still a teenager. I remembered feeling that way when I was her age. It was an awful feeling.

“Alright, then. What do you want to talk about?”

She rambled for almost twenty minutes. She talked about nothing in particular, just about her life, and things she wanted to do in the future. I smiled when I heard her talk about her goals. Katie wanted to own her own studio for photography and run the business herself. It was ambitious, but I had faith she could do it. She had the heart for it, and the passion. Every time I saw her, she had a camera with her. Even during this conversation, she had a camera sitting next to her on the table. It was endearing to see her have such a passion for photography.

Katie was a good kid. She deserved a better life than the one she had. 

“Have you ever considered leaving Sionis?” I asked during a pause in her speech.

“Sometimes. But I would never go through with it. If I did, well, he wouldn’t be happy. There’d be hell to pay if I ever left,” she admitted. That must have been such a miserable existence.

I had fleeting thoughts about asking Katie to come back home with me. The key word was fleeting. She would never agree. She was too scared of Sionis. Katie deserved so much better.

“Some things don’t change. Some things shouldn’t change,” she continued. She was twisting a strand of blue around her finger.

Blue, like the sky.

“Thanks for listening, Ms. Connery,” Katie said.

I smiled at her. “You can call me Amber, Katie.”

She smiled back, such a shy smile.

“I should get going, though. Have a good rest of your day, Amber,” she said. She picked up the empty cup and her camera.

“If you ever need to talk again, you know where I live,” I offered. She nodded her head, then walked out the door. I watched her walk across the street.

The sun was shining. It was easy to spot her and her blue streaked hair in the crowd until the sea of people swallowed her.

I worried about her.

I got another coffee and sat back down at the table to start some actual work. This story was an easy one. I hoped I would never have to write about the asylum again, though I was unsatisfied with how I left the most recent one. Strange was still the head, when it was most definitely him who had been committing the atrocities. 

Jonathan’s warning still rang in my head sometimes. Who I was a target for, I never figured out. Had it been Strange targeting me? The people Sam had been working for? Edward? All were possibilities, but I suppose it didn’t matter anymore. Sometimes things just didn’t get fixed. The worst thing that had happened was Zoey’s death, and I was sure that had nothing to do with me. 

I missed her.

I stared at the sky. It was blue. Not very common in Gotham.

“Sometimes it’s green,” I muttered. Sam had definitely been right about that. Someday it would pass. Until then, it was best to be wary.

Someday, my sky would be blue again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the final chapter of this story, and the final one of Amber's story for a while! Don't worry, as I've said, I'm not done with her, she'll be back. Until then, it's time for someone else's story. Next up is Sam's story, titled Just Hold A Smile. We'll be getting some answers to the unanswered questions in this story.
> 
> Thanks for everyone who has stuck with me so far. Hope to see you in Sam's story, Just Hold A Smile!
> 
> Chapter title borrowed from Julian Barnes


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